At the beginning of this past winter my wonderful mother-in-law bequeathed two herb plants to me. One was rosemary and the other oregano. I'm not sure why she gave them to me since I have a chronically black thumb, but give them she did. I waited for the two plants to wither and die, as is inevitable for any plant in my care that's less hardy than a cactus.
But they did not die, surprisingly. Both plants made it through the winter, and although the oregano did begin to droop significantly I was able to revive it. The rosemary and oregano plants lived happily on -- until I killed one.
When the rare Montana sun makes an appearance during the winter, I like to set my plants out on the deck to soak in the rays. That's what I did with my mother-in-law's plants, then promptly forgot about them. They stayed out overnight, and although the temperatures at the time were unseasonably warm, the oregano had turned black by the time morning came. Oops.
Now that spring has officially arrived and the weather is staying warm consistently, I decided to do some yard work today. Part of that venture included ripping up the withered skeletons of all the potted green things I've slain since last summer. The oregano was on my list of exhumations as I wanted to make its pot available for my next victim -- er, gardening attempt. But as I inspected the forlorn oregano, I glimpsed something tucked away beneath the brittle tangle of black twigs -- something green!
It was a leaf. Or really, several leaves, sprouting up in spite of all my mistreatment, in spite of the death surrounding it. Against all the odds, the oregano grew and continues to grow. I feel incredibly humbled and blessed by this tiny and yet not-so-tiny miracle.
There's some sort of God-message tucked away in all this, but I can't quite put my finger on it yet. Can you?