I like the idea of having a green thumb. I love to see the flowers in spring, a freshly mowed lawn, and gardens full of fruits, vegetables, and herbs. Yet my idea of a green thumb is often a far cry from the reality. There is a difference between liking a beautiful productive garden and liking the task of pulling weeds or remembering to set up the sprinkler when it gets hot. There is a difference between enjoying the smell of fresh cut grass and actually making the time to cut the grass, which is why I still haven't mulched my fall leaves and low maintenance herbs are the only thing we've had any success with in our garden.
Over the last several years, green thumb desires have led me to an appreciation of Bonsai trees. I find in these miniature trees and their colorful pots a picture of the life of faith. Bonsai are a form of art and the trees are wired into dramatic shapes and pruned to reach just the right aesthetic. They have to be trimmed and repotted frequently but are slow to grow, sometimes taking decades to reach the shape intended for them. In this art form I see the long obedience in the same direction that Eugene Peterson describes when he talks about discipleship to Jesus: that God prunes and shapes us, that we use spiritual disciplines and community gatherings and acts of service to wire in our lives the shape of Christ until it holds true on its own. Just as each tree is unique, so too is each of our stories unique, but there is beauty in the slow formation of our lives to be more and more in the pattern of Christ.
I have dabbled in growing and maintaining some bonsai trees, but I keep losing them. I forgot to water one for a couple of days in the midst of the Georgia heat, or I overwatered one out of fear of underwatering, or a deer invaded our backyard and ate the top off of one. The reasons are myriad, but usually (except perhaps the deer) it boils down to my lack of attention in the midst of other things happening in life. It is the distance between the idea of having beautiful thriving bonsai trees and the reality of the work that they require. Our spiritual lives are like that too. Most of us want to have a vibrant and deep faith, but life is busy and it is easy to not pay attention. Perhaps that is why I love the season of Lent. It is an opportunity to set aside space—even if for only forty days—to attend to my spiritual life again. To refocus, to prune, to water, and to fertilize. To step back and see the shape of my life and decide if it has become more like Jesus or less over these last twelve months. I invite you into this consideration. May this be a season of examination for you, a season of renewal (and hopefully one without any pesky deer!).