Call Me a “Pansy” – Please!

Call Me a “Pansy” – Please!

By Teri Ong
Thanksgiving week has not been a time of deep philosophical or theological thought for me. I had more pressing domestic duties. But I have been reflecting on life with thankfulness.
Sadly, many Americans have no idea of who the Pilgrim fathers really were, and those who have some little notion only know about the suffering of their voyage and first winter in the New World. In November 2006 Steve and I and my mother made a rough ferry crossing from Holyhead, Wales to Dublin. It only lasted about two hours, and we were warm and dry (though a

little queasy) the entire time. But it gave me a new experiential appreciation for the weeks of pitching and rolling on a gray, cold, unfriendly ocean that the Pilgrims endured. It also made me feel like a real wimp. And in reality, their horrendous ocean voyage and deadly first winter were nothing. Their suffering through intense persecution, privation, and separation from their homeland and love ones began more than twenty years before the Mayflower ever set sail.
We have been reading as a family The Mayflower Pilgrims by David Beale. He has very academically and artfully portrayed the multitudinous sufferings of the English puritans and separatists that led up to their momentous decision to come to America. I highly recommend the book for being as inspirational as it is informative. The fragile little band of 102 people, 51 of whom made it through the winter, should not have survived at all. It was only through God’s special grace and providential supply that they were not all wiped out like some of the earlier groups that had tried to start a new life in America.
They remind me of the pot of pansies which are still blooming in my backyard.

My sweet friend Annie gave me a yellow flower pot containing some pretty pansy starters way back the end of March. They were obviously young plants, but they had a few blooms already. Since spring weather is so uncertain in Colorado, I decided to keep them indoors for a few weeks. The old “folk” rule here is, “Don’t plant outdoors until Mothers’ Day.”
I enjoyed the blooms, but the plants didn’t really thrive on my plant hutch on the sun porch. By the time I moved them outdoors, they were much the worse for wear. Without any expectation for their revival, I just set the pot out in the lavender bed at the foot of a cottonwood tree. There they got absolutely no special attention or TLC. They got a little water when the sprinkler system was on, but that was all. Otherwise, they were subjected to all of the extremes of heat and moisture we get in Colorado summers.
Every once in a while, I would notice the little pot and think, “I should pinch off the dead blooms,” or “I should pull out that dead plant.” But I never did, and somehow the hardy, surviving plants kept on keeping on.
We had a very hot, dry summer (not exactly pansy weather!) followed by a long, luxurious fall that was punctuated with two big snowstorms the end of October. The foot of heavy, wet snow in the first storm took out part of almost every tree in Greeley. Then the eight inch storm a week later took out some more. A month later the city crews are still picking up all the debris. Night temperatures are now routinely in the 20’s. And my Timex pansies are still ticking!
I am amazed! I pointed them out to one of my sons, and we agreed that pansies are no pansies! The picture posted here was taken on November 20th. You can see what is left of the tree and what is left of the pansies.

Very often in my life I have felt blighted, dried, baked, drowned, chilled, and even neglected, but nothing has to destroy the beauty of God’s holiness in my life. God alone knows when His wind will pass over me and I will be gone. It is probably true, as it was for my pansies, I wouldn’t do nearly as well if I were a pampered house plant.
God, make this pansy no pansy!

Psalm 103 (stanzas 3 and 4)
Father-like He tends and spares us,
Well our feeble frame He knows;
In His hands He gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes.
Praise Him! Praise Him!
Widely as His mercy flows.
Frail as summer’s flower we flourish;
Blows the wind, and it is gone;
But while mortals rise and perish,
God endures unchanging on.
Praise Him! Praise Him!
Praise the high eternal One.
–Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847)

 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *