What Grows

A small clay pot sits on the kitchen windowsill.

Yesterday, there was only soil.

Today, a green shoot bends toward the morning light.

I lean close.

It is thin. Pale. Barely taller than the rim of the pot.

I smile and say ~

I say it again ~

“More and more every day I get better and better in every way!”

The little plant does not answer.

It keeps growing.

I touch the soil with one finger. Still damp.

I turn the pot so the stem faces away from the window. By tomorrow, it will bend toward the light again.

It knows where to go.

On the counter beside it, the seed packet shows a tall plant heavy with bright red tomatoes.

I look from the picture to the single green shoot.

We have a long way to go.

The next morning, I check again.

It looks exactly the same.

I move the pot closer to the glass. Then farther away. I press the soil around the stem. I reach for the watering can even though the dirt is still wet.

I want proof.

I want another leaf.

I want the fruit pictured on the packet.

Now!

My hand pauses above the pot.

I leave the roots alone.

I take a breath and let my shoulders fall.

We don’t resist, we relax!

“We don’t resist, we relax!”

I set down the watering can.

Relaxing does not mean I stop caring for the plant.

I give it water when it needs water.

I give it light.

I give it room.

Then I leave the roots alone.

I cannot pull a plant out of the soil and call that growth.

Some things happen quietly.

A root reaches deeper.

A stem becomes stronger.

A new leaf forms before I can see it.

The work continues even when the surface looks still.

So does mine.

More and more every day, I learn.

More and more every day, I strengthen.

More and more every day, I become the person I have already begun to imagine.

I pick up the seed packet.

The plant in the picture does not exist yet. Still, I can see it.

I can picture the stem climbing.

I can picture the yellow flowers opening.

I can picture the first tomato resting in my hand, warm from the sun.

The picture gives my hands something to work toward.

“Anything we can conceive and bring ourselves to believe, we can achieve!”

Belief does not water the plant.

I do.

Belief does not lift it toward the sun.

I do.

Belief shows me why I keep caring for a small green shoot when the fruit is still far away.

Days pass.

I water.

I turn the pot.

I wait.

One morning, I walk into the kitchen and stop.

A new leaf has opened.

Small. Green. Perfect.

I laugh.

The plant did not grow all at once. It grew a little at a time, whether I noticed or not.

I place one finger beside the new leaf and say all three affirmations ~

“More and more every day I get better and better in every way!”

“We don’t resist, we relax!”

“Anything we can conceive and bring ourselves to believe, we can achieve!”

Morning light fills the window.

I turn the pot toward it.

Then I leave the roots alone.