Nurture

Caelie Wilkes was proud of her little succulent plant. But just when she was ready to take the next step in caring for it, she realized her efforts were all for naught. Wilkes said, “I was so proud of this plant. It was full, beautiful coloring, just an overall perfect plant … I had a watering plan for it, if someone else tried to water my succulent I would get so defensive because I just wanted to keep good care of it. I absolutely loved my succulent.”

When Wilkes decided it was ready to be transplanted into a larger vase, she was shocked to find that the plant was plastic. “I put so much love into this plant! I washed its leaves. Tried my hardest to keep it looking it’s best, and it’s completely plastic! How did I not know this? I pull it from the container it’s sitting on ... Styrofoam with sand glued to the top!”

Apparently, the plant’s inability to soak up water never clued in Wilkes about the nature of her plant, because real succulents don’t require much water. She’s since replaced the plant with several real succulents, purchased at a local home improvement chain store.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Outward signs of success are not always accurate indicators of health. What is inside a person may not match the appearance.

Sean and Liegh Anne Tuohy, the real-life couple portrayed in the movie Blindside, share the following story in their book In a Heartbeat:

There is a little-known congressional program that awards internships to young people who have aged out of the foster care system. These are kids who were never adopted, and are no longer eligible for state support.

[A senator we've met] employed one such man as an intern. One morning the senator breezed in for a meeting and discovered that his intern was already in the office, reorganizing the entire mailroom. The senator said to the intern, "This is amazing—the mailroom has never looked so clean. You did a great job."

A few minutes later the senator saw that the intern had tears streaming down his face. [He] said, "Son, are you okay?"

"Yes," the intern answered quietly.

"Did I say something to offend you?"

"No, sir."

"Well, what's wrong?"

The young man said, "That's the first time in my life anyone's told me that I did something good."

The Tuhoy's comment, "A little bit of attention and a kind word—that's how little it takes to affect someone's life for the better."

God comforts in many ways, and James and Jill Kilibarda of Minnesota have discovered one of those ways.

Looking forward to the birth of their first child, the couple learned during the pregnancy that this baby had a genetic problem and would probably only live a few hours after her birth.

They turned to a unique prenatal hospice program to help guide them through this crisis and received needed guidance and help. The Children's Hospitals and Clinics of Minnesota in Minneapolis provided them direction and stood by them through this difficult time.

Hospital nurse Raquel Beucher set up special classes on childbirth education. She checked on the parents during the birth of baby Alaina, visited in the waiting room with their families, and arranged for them to meet with a neonatologist.

Peter Lund, hospice chaplain, built a bridge of communication with the parents. He called on them in their home. He "made them think a great deal about God's role" in the situation.

Alaina lived through her first night and became among the 10 percent of these babies who live beyond two months of age. She will probably die before reaching preschool age.

The Kilibardas have returned to a normal life; both are back to work and take turns caring for Alaina. Hospice workers encouraged the Kilibardas to make memories with Alaina. These parents have carried their daughter to the homes of their friends, large family get-togethers, and even to the coffee shop they frequent.

James Kilibarda shared why he looked to the hospice program. "I want to go through this with my eyes open. I want to feel every ounce of pain, of happiness, because if I avoid it now, it will come back to bite me. I want to experience grace. What does that mean, because it's such a vague term?" His voice cracked. "I'm still trying to figure it out. I think I'll experience it when this event comes complete, when she passes."

Added Jill, "When we were expecting Alaina, people would say, 'You're in our prayers.' But people were praying…to make it all better for us." And then this mother opened her heart, "We weren't asking, 'Make it all better.' God doesn't come down and touch you to heal you. He sends people to be with you."

College English professor Jess Decourcy Hinds, of Brooklyn, New York, lost her father to a painful battle with bone cancer. Following his death, she was bothered by the central messages of most sympathy cards she received. Many of the cards tried their best to talk her out of the grieving process. At best, the personal notes simply sought to distract her. Someone inquired, "Are you applying to grad school?" Another asked, "How's your teaching going?" Still more questions came her way: "Are you still renovating your apartment? Are you keeping busy?"

What Hinds really wanted was for people to say, "I'm sorry for your loss." She wanted to slowly move through a process of sadness; she certainly wasn't ready for a chirping, cheery person!

Hinds suggests some guidelines for the art of condolence. Simply begin with, "I am so sorry for your loss." Then ask the crucial questions: "How are you? How are you feeling?" Don't tell someone how he or she should feel. You also shouldn't say, "I can't imagine what you're going through." This often only comes across as, "This is too hard for me; I don't want to think about it."

She concludes with a look at the behavior of elephants: "How do we support people in mourning? We can learn from the elephants. Elephants are known to grieve in groups. They loop trunks to support the bereaved. Like elephants, we should remain connected and open to mourners' sorrow longer than a two-hour memorial service. Grieving is private, but it can be public … we need to be open to mourners. We need to look each other in the eye and say, 'I am so sorry.'"

Have you ever wondered when Americans started celebrating Mother's Day? The holiday was born out of one woman's desire to honor her mother's life of sacrifice and grace.

Born in 1864 in Grafton, West Virginia, Anna Jarvis witnessed the aftermath of the Civil War through a child's eyes. Her mother, Anna Maria Reeves-Jarvis, had spent the war organizing women to nurse wounded soldiers from both the North and South, and generally attempting to hold her border-state community together. After the war, Anna Maria started "Mothers' Friendship Days" to reconcile families that had been divided by the conflict.

Throughout her life, Anna Maria modeled the ideals of Victorian motherhood. She gave up her dreams of college in order to tend to an older husband and four children. She bore the loss of seven other children with grace. She taught Sunday school in the local Methodist church for 20 years and stayed active in benevolent work.

Anna Maria's death in 1905 devastated her daughter. Two years later, Anna got the idea to found a holiday remembering her mother, and all mothers, whom she felt could never be thanked enough.

Mother's Day was first celebrated in 1908 in Grafton (where Anna grew up) and Philadelphia (where she lived as an adult). Later, in a resolution passed May 8, 1914, the U.S. Congress officially established the second Sunday in May as Mother's Day.

Love does not die easily. It is a living thing. It thrives in the face of all life's hazards, save one--neglect.

A miraculous healing from chicken pox is a small thing compared to the grace that keeps me loving, kind, and caring into the wee hours of the morning.