Wick

When a thing is wick, it has a life about it.
Now, maybe not a life like you and me.
But somewhere there's a single streak of green inside it.
Come, and let me show you what I mean.
--from The Secret Garden (lyrics by Marsha Norman)


   A week after planting my strawberries in starter pots (and plastic cups) I found myself looking for signs of life. The ones I planted in the cups (first batch) mostly had green leaves when I planted them. The ones I put in the bio-degradable pots (second batch) with Miracle-Gro potting soil, on the other hand, were an exercise in hope. They looked pretty far gone. And after a week, there were no signs of life in them. 
   The ones in the plastic cups, on the other hand, had changed dramatically.  They had seemingly died. 
   I attributed that to the soil and to the container, which didn't let air in or water out. I went through them carefully looking for any signs of life-a live leaf, a shoot of green, even some fuzz that didn't seem to be too brown.  Those that offered hope I transplanted into the bio-degradable pots with the Miracle-Gro, replacing the plants that clearly were beyond saving.  I tried to shake off all the inferior soil and replant them carefully to give them the best chance of life.
   In the end, I trashed all the second batch (put them in the compost, actually) and re-potted all the first batch, even though some of them showed little or no sign of life.  Eight of them looked to survive, while the rest were again an exercise in hope.
   Each day I checked them, watered them if needed, and looked for that single streak of green. Now after a week four or five more are wick, and I'm giving the others a chance to prove themselves. I eagerly look forward to checking them every day, amazed at the miracle of life within them, astounded that they have come back from seeming death.
   It's kind of that way with people. Now and then I run into people who seem to be zombies-the living dead. They have a pulse, they hold down a job, they even smile from time to time. But the signs of life are weak. Perhaps they've been beaten into submission by the circumstances of their lives or by others around them who have slowly-or even all at once-drained the life out of them. Perhaps they've made destructive choices, betrayed the divinity within them.
   What they don't seem to have is purpose, direction, hope, faith.
   And yet, if you look closely enough, over a period of time, nurturing and caring for them with friendly interactions and supportive words and deeds, you may just catch a fleeting glimpse of green inside and realize that they are wick after all.


When a thing is wick, it has a light around it.
Maybe not a light that you can see.
But hiding down below a spark's asleep inside it,
Waiting for the right time to be seen.


   If you care to, and if they permit you, you can help clear away the dead things and nurse them back to life.  It isn't always easy, and not every one revives, but when they do, it's one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had.
   When we engage in that kind of gardening, we are doing God's work, and He can provide a joy that passes understanding. If we are wick with that light, we may gain Eternal Life.