We had to decide first whether or not we even wanted to grow the plants.  We travel sometimes, and wanted to be sure the plants would be properly watered and cared for.  We realized at least one of us would be home throughout the summer, and my uncle offered to water the plants if we went away for a few days; in the brutal tropical sun of Florida, we wanted to be sure they wouldn’t die of thirst.

            We were also curious about how each plant would grow—one was in a large pot, with lots of sun and water, popping new leaves in abundance; the other plant seemed to be unhappy from the moment we bought it.  We were ill-prepared to suspend the plant in a hangar where, with the dirt and plant, it would weigh 70-80 pounds!  My husband tried to suspend it on a clothes rack (you’d have to see it to appreciate his ingenuity) and the plant grew and even had blossoms, but it never grew a single tomato.  I couldn’t help wondering how I would feel if someone suspended me upside down and expected me to be satisfied!  We finally put it out of its misery (and me out of my misery as I watched its puzzling maturity) and gave it to the alligators.  Meanwhile, our potted plant, shooting out blossoms and eventually delicious tomatoes, has continued to grow and bear fruit.

            So how have these plants imparted lessons to me?  Just deciding to grow them was the first lesson.  When I brought that plant into our lives, I realized I was making a commitment:  to give it sun, to protect it from bugs, to water it, to pluck and savor its fruit.  Commitment is valuable not only for our spiritual paths but I was reminded how we can honor commitment in the simple areas of our lives.  The next lesson was patience:  as I watched the blossoms sprout, I noticed how impatient I was to see them replaced by tomatoes—and then when the tomatoes appeared, I wanted ripe ones.  I also began to appreciate that everything matures at its own pace. Instead of just imagining how delicious the ripe tomatoes would be, I watched the process of transformation; how the maturing tomato went from bright green to a trace of yellow, then orange, then red.  I was also fascinated at how the mature tomatoes were many different shapes and sizes, each with its own unique characteristics, different shades of reds, various rates of growth.  I was also reminded with the lack of fruition of the hanging plant that life is unpredictable; even when we think we’ve done all the right things, life unfolds in its own surprising ways.  Isn’t that just like our own paths?—we can’t force our growth or understanding; we can only do what we can to live spirit, through study, practice and inquiry, and our practices will mature in their own ways, with fits and starts, confusion and clarity, disappointment and reward.

            When we live a life of spirit, we can only remind ourselves to open to what is.  Sometimes there are setbacks; other times we realize we’ve grown.  We can only appreciate the offerings that our lives give us, and celebrate; just like biting into a juicy, ripe tomato, we each can experience everything in its own unique way.