Meet Professor Tomato
Shortly after Jack Frost left central Illinois, my dog, Alex, and I were walking the neighborhood. The fellow across the street, Bud, was out walking Scooter. We met a couple of blocks from home and stopped to chat while Alex and Scooter did the doggy version of shaking hands. Bud asked me, “Do you remember those tomatoes I gave you last summer?”
Even at my age, I rarely forget a gift of fresh tomatoes, so I said, “Yeah. And I hope you are going to continue that tradition this year.”
He smiled and said, “I can do better than that.” Then I smiled.
He continued, “My grandson gave me the tomato plants last year. This year, he brought me three more than I want. They’re the same kind he gave me last year. If you want those three plants, I’ll give them to you. Just come over and get them when you want them. They’re sitting by the back door.”
A few days later I pulled some flowers I now disliked out of the border along the back side of our privacy fence. In there place I planted Bud’s three tomato plants. Our daughter Joni didn’t plant any tomatoes this year so she offered to loan a couple of conical, wire supports designed to support tomato plants. For the third plant’s support, I set a plain, three-foot wooden stake next to its trunk.
From those three tomato plants in my backyard, I have learned two lessons. Actually, at my age, learning is mostly re-learning. Nevertheless, the re-learning was a bargain for the effort I invested.
The first truth worth keeping grabbed my attention several weeks after the initial planting. Because I procrastinated, the plant without the wire supports never did get attached to its wooden stake. But it grew anyway. Unlike the two other plants, this plant didn’t have anything to lean on as it grew. So of course, as it stretched out from the earth, it soon collapsed and sprawled out on the ground. Even though it wanted to reach for the sun, it had no support for its effort. Lying on the ground with its small blooms just above the soil, I knew that some of the fruit of that plant would lie on the ground; vulnerable to the forces that would introduce rotting and scarring .
As it is with tomato plants, so it is with children. With a little help, with a little encouragement, the child will reach levels unattainable on its own. My supported tomato plants grew and are now ready to bear fruit. But make no mistake --the sturdy aid of a wire cage didn’t cause the growth; growth came from within the plant. With or without an anchor of support, a tomato plant will grow and produce fruit.
My unsupported plant grew as well, but it will not be all it could have been because it lacked support and direction.
During a recent visit to a church I left nine years ago, I wanted to see what changes time had wrought. I noted lots of new faces, air-conditioning, revitalized choir, and the new organ, But guess what impressed me most. Eric is still there.
Eric has grown up since I saw him last. That is in itself quite an accomplishment. Not the brightest kid on the block, Eric was one of those children the world thinks needs a “special education.” Without a family functioning as enthusiastic cheerleaders and lacking a strong bulwark against tormentors, Eric’s future was not bright when I first met him.
But God is a better gardener than I. He surrounded Eric with a congregation that stood with him and supported him by accepting him in a youth group, paying his expenses to attend a life changing youth conference, and engaging him in patient conversations that began as dialogue and ended as soliloquy. With the strength and stability of a Presbyterian congregation near him, Eric’s destiny now more closely matches his Creator’s design.
In a similar way, every time I witness a baptism of a child, my flickering little candle of hope is rekindled because I look at the child and the congregation and imagine that another tomato plant has been staked so it can grow and bear good fruit.
The second truth reconfirmed by my tomato plant is this: A young plant is more pliable and more easily trained than an old plant with thickened trunks and stems. When I try to train the plant already set in its ways or make it conform and adapt like a young plant, sometimes the mature plant breaks … and dies with green fruit still on its vine.
So I have learned.
What truth do my tomato plants reveal to you?
Even at my age, I rarely forget a gift of fresh tomatoes, so I said, “Yeah. And I hope you are going to continue that tradition this year.”
He smiled and said, “I can do better than that.” Then I smiled.
He continued, “My grandson gave me the tomato plants last year. This year, he brought me three more than I want. They’re the same kind he gave me last year. If you want those three plants, I’ll give them to you. Just come over and get them when you want them. They’re sitting by the back door.”
A few days later I pulled some flowers I now disliked out of the border along the back side of our privacy fence. In there place I planted Bud’s three tomato plants. Our daughter Joni didn’t plant any tomatoes this year so she offered to loan a couple of conical, wire supports designed to support tomato plants. For the third plant’s support, I set a plain, three-foot wooden stake next to its trunk.
From those three tomato plants in my backyard, I have learned two lessons. Actually, at my age, learning is mostly re-learning. Nevertheless, the re-learning was a bargain for the effort I invested.
The first truth worth keeping grabbed my attention several weeks after the initial planting. Because I procrastinated, the plant without the wire supports never did get attached to its wooden stake. But it grew anyway. Unlike the two other plants, this plant didn’t have anything to lean on as it grew. So of course, as it stretched out from the earth, it soon collapsed and sprawled out on the ground. Even though it wanted to reach for the sun, it had no support for its effort. Lying on the ground with its small blooms just above the soil, I knew that some of the fruit of that plant would lie on the ground; vulnerable to the forces that would introduce rotting and scarring .
As it is with tomato plants, so it is with children. With a little help, with a little encouragement, the child will reach levels unattainable on its own. My supported tomato plants grew and are now ready to bear fruit. But make no mistake --the sturdy aid of a wire cage didn’t cause the growth; growth came from within the plant. With or without an anchor of support, a tomato plant will grow and produce fruit.
My unsupported plant grew as well, but it will not be all it could have been because it lacked support and direction.
During a recent visit to a church I left nine years ago, I wanted to see what changes time had wrought. I noted lots of new faces, air-conditioning, revitalized choir, and the new organ, But guess what impressed me most. Eric is still there.
Eric has grown up since I saw him last. That is in itself quite an accomplishment. Not the brightest kid on the block, Eric was one of those children the world thinks needs a “special education.” Without a family functioning as enthusiastic cheerleaders and lacking a strong bulwark against tormentors, Eric’s future was not bright when I first met him.
But God is a better gardener than I. He surrounded Eric with a congregation that stood with him and supported him by accepting him in a youth group, paying his expenses to attend a life changing youth conference, and engaging him in patient conversations that began as dialogue and ended as soliloquy. With the strength and stability of a Presbyterian congregation near him, Eric’s destiny now more closely matches his Creator’s design.
In a similar way, every time I witness a baptism of a child, my flickering little candle of hope is rekindled because I look at the child and the congregation and imagine that another tomato plant has been staked so it can grow and bear good fruit.
The second truth reconfirmed by my tomato plant is this: A young plant is more pliable and more easily trained than an old plant with thickened trunks and stems. When I try to train the plant already set in its ways or make it conform and adapt like a young plant, sometimes the mature plant breaks … and dies with green fruit still on its vine.
So I have learned.
What truth do my tomato plants reveal to you?
posted by John | 11:52 AM
1 Comments:
Thank you for that wonderful re-lesson, John! I would have loved to have seen you and Carrol when you were in Jackson. And I am trying diligently to remember who Eric is...I think I do!
Happy gardening!
Valerie
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