Your Own Limited Potential

I saw the funniest thing a while ago (see the picture below). For those who are confused by the overabundance of purple, this is a photograph of a tomato seedling. As you can probably see, this is a seedling starving for light. It has grown so tall its fallen over. I think it was 2.5-3 inches long when I found it. And lest you think it lacked light because I was a neglectful plant parent, the purple tint of the photograph is a result of the UV light that I had trained close to the plant 8-12 hours a day, every day long before the tomato began to sprout. It had light. Well, it should have had light.

It would have had light except that for some reason, this seedling did not get free of the small seed-casing that surrounded its first leaves. I guess the seed split enough for the root and stem to emerge, but the casing held on tight. At first I thought it was because the seedling wasn't moist enough, and not wanting to damage the "chick" by opening its "shell," I sprayed it with water, covered it, and let it work its own way out. 

Only it never did.

It just kept growing. Taller and taller. Hoping that it if it reached up high enough it would find the light. 

I did attempt to save the poor seedling. When I realized it couldn't free itself I attempted surgery but it was too late. The seedling stem was far too weak, the seed casing still held on with a vengeance, and the plant died a few days later. 

It was tragic. 

And utterly hilarious. 

Until I realized that it was life in a seed-shell. 

It is far too easy to compare myself to a sprout. After all, little plants are cute and adorable. I'm cute and adorable! They're young and naive. So am I! They make people happy. I do that too! They've got a higher potential to volume ratio than almost anything I can think of, excepting me. I started out smaller so my potential to volume ratio is just a bit higher than the average plant.

And they're apparently hard headed and stupid because they limit their potential. 

That tomato had the world at its fingertips. I would have doted on it, talked to it, sung to it, and eventually planted it out under the sun and the stars. I would have loved it, named it, encouraged it, and appreciated it. I wanted it to grow. I wanted it to thrive. I would have given it everything I could imagine it would want.

But I never got the chance because that little seedling didn't believe in me. It didn't trust that I'd already given it the very thing it was literally dying to find. It kept trying its own way, hardheaded to the end. It couldn't see past itself to realize that whatever it asked for, I would give--I had already given. 

Not long ago I was pondering the famous scripture, "With God, all things are possible." And the more I pondered, the more I realized that I didn't believe it. I could only imagine things I believed were possible actually happening. I could imagine getting a good grade in a class. I could imagine driving safely to work. I could imagine getting a job I felt qualified for. I could imagine building relationships that already had a good foundation. Essentially, I could imagine whatever I was already doing continuing. That was the limit of my possible. I believed I had the potential to be exactly who I was and doing exactly what I was doing. 

It's a little ridiculous when I put it in words because obviously if my potential only extends to what already exists, it isn't potential. And if I actually believed in the impossible my wild, unrealistic dreams might actually have a chance of coming true. And that, well, it just isn't possible. 

And then my blueberry bush started talking to me. 

Which, I know, isn't possible, but it happened. 

The story is actually pretty simple. My blueberries are struggling. They're showing signs of iron deficiency, their leaves are turning brown and dry, they haven't sprouted new leaves in months. They're dying a slow and painful death. I was trying yet another treatment--watering them every day with acidic water. After a week of the treatment I couldn't see any improvement. If anything, they looked worse. I sighed and felt the weight of yet another dying plant on my heart. It wounds me every time I think I'm losing one. I carry all the responsibility for the livelihood of my plants on my shoulders. If anything goes wrong (drought, over-watering, infestation, accident, sunburn, too much shade, etc.) its my fault. I thought it was my job to make sure every plant grew like it was supposed to. 

So, when my blueberries continued to struggle, I sighed and mentally prepared for yet another plant death. Then I stood up and turned away from the bush I'd been studying when I felt almost a mental slap on my head and then I sensed these distinct words: "You do realize that I want to grow, don't you?" 

"What?" I asked, shocked. 

"I want to grow. I'm trying to grow. And I'm not going to give up just because you think I'm dying." The plant paused and then said, "But it would really help if you stopped imagining me dying and instead imagined me reaching my full potential." 

I remember gasping. Not from having a conversation with a plant. No, I was stunned because I hadn't realized that I had been limiting that plant's potential. Rather than imagining the possibility of it growing tall, green, luscious, and producing bushels of fruit, I was seeing it brown, dead, and eventually replaced by some other plant. I didn't believe it could possibly survive. 

I apologized to the plant and immediately conjured an image of it growing healthy and happy. 

I made it across the driveway before I realized I wasn't just limiting my plants. I was limiting myself. Since I didn't believe my dreams were possible, I stopped working toward them. Since I didn't believe God would give me what I asked for, I stopped asking and stopped looking for his answer. Rather than looking for opportunities for growth and change, I was cocooned in my seed-shell. But I wasn't happy. And I wasn't healthy. 

I've spent the last few weeks attempting to believe in the impossible. I've written down every ridiculous dream I ever had. I've listed everything I ever told myself I couldn't do. I figured out all the reasons why what I wanted wasn't possible. And then I threw them out and started imagining my life like the blueberry bush--lush, green, producing, thriving. 

The result? I went on a walk and decided I wanted to find a penny. I found that penny. I decided I was capable of writing a book and made good progress on the book I'd been avoiding. I wanted to receive direct inspiration from heaven, and I got it in abundance. I wanted to let go of resentment and frustration, and I did. 

These things probably don't sound big or impossible, but for the longest time, in my mind, they were. I had this running narrative of self-doubts and impossibilities that were hindering me from progress. I told myself I believed in the impossible while limiting my own potential. 

I looked up that famous scripture today. There are multiple versions of it in a variety of books in the bible, but the one I loved the most reads, "If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth." 

I just didn't believe. I didn't believe in Jesus Christ. I didn't believe in God. I mean, I did, but not really. Because if I had, I would have realized that I have the world at my fingertips. They would love to talk to me, sing to me, plant me under the sun and let me reach for the stars. The would love me, name me, encourage me, and appreciate me. They want me to grow--to thrive. They would give me everything I could imagine I might want.  

But they didn't have a chance because I didn't believe in them. I didn't trust that they'd already given me the answers I was seeking. I kept trying my own way, hardheaded and blind. I couldn't see past myself to realize that whatever I asked for, they would give--and had given--if I could just see beyond my own limited potential. 

--Mark 9:23--