Rooted in Jesus

I planted my tomatoes this week. These are plants I grew from seed. I haven’t done this for a number of years. Long ago I would try starting tomatoes and various other vegetables and flowers in our basement. I had special grow lightbulbs set up in a fluorescent light connected to a timer. The light would be on for about 18 hours a day, trying to give these plants a head start on life. It is an exercise in hope and anticipation.

I don’t know whether the basement was simply too cold or the grow lamps just weren’t a sufficient substitute for the sun, but this set up never seemed to work so well. Despite years of trying, I don’t think I ever successfully transplanted a tomato from our basement into our backyard. Well—maybe one year, but by the time the plants recovered from the shock of moving from the basement to the outdoors, I was so far behind that I went and bought plants from the nursery anyway.

But then last fall, Peter came home from school with a couple of bean seeds he was supposed to plant and watch grow. Based on my track record, I wasn’t too hopeful. But we put them in a cup filled with soil and watered them anyway. And placed them in the front window. And low and behold, they grew! In fact, they thrived! There was something about the front window that seemed ideal for growing plants. [Okay…full disclosure: I forgot to keep watering the first round of bean seeds and they didn’t make it. Unknown to Peter, these were replacement seeds that started growing.]

This unexpected success got me thinking—what would happen if our front window became the new location for starting tomatoes plants? After a bit of negotiation, Elizabeth graciously allowed me to turn our living room into a plant nursery for the spring. And it turns out—it works! In fact, it’s fantastic! Too good, actually.

The plants I started in February were ready to plant by the end of March. But this is Michigan, and cold kills tomato plants, so I needed to wait. And wait. And wait… For the past three weeks, I’ve been eagerly checking the weather to see if the nighttime temperatures would be warm enough for the tomato plants, but was bitterly disappointed every time. Weatherbug consistently told me there were near-freezing temperatures coming and I should wait to plant the tomatoes.

But now the tomatoes were suffering because they were overgrowing the starter cells I had planted them in. I faithfully brought them outside every day to get them “hardened,” but then grudgingly brought them back inside every night. We’ve gone weeks without fresh cookies over here because the cookie sheets have been tied up with tomato plants. But their leaves started to yellow and they stopped growing because they needed a bigger space.

But now the tomatoes are in the ground, and I’m waiting to see if they’ll actually make it. And if they’ll actually produce tomatoes. And if those tomatoes will taste extra-sweet because I’ve grown these plants myself all the way from seed. I’m envisioning those roots finding new freedom in all that dirt—spreading slowly, this way and that, eagerly soaking in nutrients and water.

Each morning, after I drop Peter off at school, I come home and go straight to the rain barrel in the back of our house, fill the watering jug I keep close at hand, and give a generous amount of water to each tomato plant. With the heat we’re having this week, I know it is particularly hard for them to take root in their new soil without drying out.

We haven’t had much rain lately, so tomorrow I’ll likely need to switch over to the automated system I use every year. I have a hose on a timer connected to the spigot, and twice a day the water turns on and each tomato plant has a small hose delivering water straight to its roots. It’s pretty slick, even if I do say so myself. Because even though I’m pretty diligent on watering the plants by hand, there are days I forget, times I don’t give them as much as I should, times I’m too busy. And the tomatoes start to dry out, and they stop growing. With the automated system, though, the water keeps coming. Right on schedule. I can even go on vacation for weeks at a time, and the plants will be fine when I get back. They’ll keep growing fast and strong, and one day, not too long from now, will produce juicy, super-yummy tomatoes—better than anything you can buy in the store.

This image has had me thinking of John 15 and Jesus’ description of the vine and the branches. He is the vine, and we are the branches, he says. We are unable to bear fruit, he says, unless we remain rooted in the vine—grafted into the vine. Unless we’re continually being nurtured by Jesus, drawing our sustenance and energy from Jesus, we won’t produce anything meaningful.

There are times in my life, unfortunately, where my spiritual life is more like my sporadic watering of my tomato plants than it is of the automated system. There are days when everything is great and I’m growing in Christ, but other days where I run out of time, I’m too busy, or just forget. I can make it a remarkable amount of time this way, sometimes, but I start to run dry. I can sometimes feel my soul start shriveling up. How much better would it be if my spiritual life were more like the automated system of watering I set up? Consistent and regular. Always providing that connection to the life-giving living water that my souls thirsts for? There would still be days of scorching heat, days where it might feel dry—but despite all that, I’d know I’d still be getting the nurture I need. I’d still be growing strong, and I’d be ready to bear fruit—no matter how hot or dry the summer.