Hope is sometimes a plant without fruit

I have a squash plant that grew as a volunteer out of my compost bin. I carefully dug up the plant and put it in a safe location where I could water and nurture it. It grew big leaves and even a few fruits – that’s how I know it’s a squash plant. However, none of the fruits have thrived. Soon after forming, they turn yellow and fall off the vine. It’s disheartening, really. The plant has everything it needs but it isn’t able to bring a fully formed fruit to bear.

My son started to give me a hard time about the plant. “Mom,” he said, “it’s got end rot. It has end rot because you aren’t watering it regularly.” I tried to tell him I do water it, but it still hasn’t thrived. He wants someone to blame for its failure and I’m a convenient target. Ater all, I did plant it.  It’s not fair the plant is taking up so much space and not producing anything. It’s like a great big leech, soaking up water and giving nothing in return.

Like so many things in life, my hopes and dreams for the little plant did not turn out as expected. Frankly, I know I should pull it out of the ground and plant something else. But I just can’t seem to let go. There is an idea in my mind that maybe the next fruit won’t fail. Maybe there will be a miracle and one of the fruits will form and grow. Hope dies hard.

Life is full of disappointment. We water our dreams only to see them wither. Worse, there are people in our lives who tell us the failure is our fault. If only we had done this or that, things might have turned out differently. The most difficult thing for me is when the criticism comes from people who claim to follow Christ.

As my regular readers know, I struggle with depression and am prone to periods of melancholy. I don’t choose this and do everything within my power to avoid it. I exercise, eat right, practice gratitude, and regularly stand on my head to increase blood flow to my brain (okay, I don’t do that but if it helped, I might).  I also used to pray for God to take it away. Like, a lot. Recently, I experienced a refreshingly awesome of experience of two-months depression free. Every day I celebrated the feeling of not trudging through mud in my mind. It was incredible. And then, like a bad deja vu dream, it returned. It started with lethargy and then the negative thoughts began and before I knew it, I was crying during my workouts again. It is very difficult to run with depression. And it is even more difficult to do strength training. I simply do not want to attempt planks when I can barely lift my body of out bed.

So, I do it anyway.

Because life goes on. And I always feel better after the workout even if I feel rotten pushing through it.

This morning found me pedaling a bicycle up some extremely difficult hills. But because I make a regular habit of exercising, the hills were only difficult–not impossible. A very vivid memory flashed through my mind of a morbidly obese Margaret trying to pedal a bike up a small hill in my neighborhood after many years of neglect. Before five minutes had passed, I was out of breath and ready to throw the bike in a dumpster. I never imagined I would have the strength to ride 38 miles (as I did this morning). In fact, I put the bike up and didn’t ride it for several years after that. The bike was not motivation enough.

Many people think depression is something someone can simply snap out of. Or they blame the person experiencing it. Or worse, they use God as a cudgel and tell someone they simply don’t have enough faith to be healed. Or that their posture isn’t correct. Or if they only tried breathing in a certain pattern, all their health issues would simply go away. They blame the plant and when that doesn’t help, they blame the gardener.

I don’t blame God for my depression. Candidly, I find Him the nearer when I am suffering. I know He sees my tears and loves me all the more for my faith during the sadness. His love is my warm blanket on a cold day. He gives me the strength to lift my body out of bed and do difficult things for His glory. There is something incredibly comforting about knowing I can pray, and He hears me and loves me–not because my prayers are awesome–but because He is God. It’s in His nature to love.

I have a Savior who loves me just as I am. I am fully accepted and fully loved. If I had to choose between a depression-free life without God and a depressive life with God, I would choose the latter. The richness of His mercy falls on me like spring rains after months of drought. He is abundantly real and supremely beautiful, not because I can see Him with my eyeballs, but because through Him I see everything else.

My little squash plant never ceases to amaze me. Two days ago, I saw a grapefruit sized squash growing. It was still there this morning. I continue to hope in that little plant, I suppose because I relate to it in many ways. I know that it could give up and die. I know that a squash bug could end its life prematurely. I also know that each fruit it makes is a tiny miracle–even if it doesn’t grow large enough to harvest. Its very life is beautiful, even if all it ever does is to produce great, big, wonderful leaves.

When everything in our culture says we have to produce the big, shiny thing to be relevant, remember, we are all just learning and growing the best we can. We can take it easy on ourselves and live one day at a time and accept our limitations and afflictions and thank God for His presence. Or we can keep striving for something that was never meant to be. I have learned to choose the former. And if all I ever produce are big, beautiful leaves, I will thank God that He gave me that ability and praise all my squash-producing neighbors.