My new baby arrived about a week ago. Actually, I never even saw the actual 'birth'. I'm a laissez-faire gardener. The plants that happen to survive my care (if you can call it that. . . 'lack of care' is more accurate) are those that are self-sufficient. That is, they can survive and thrive without me watering them, fertilizing them, or talking to them. Pineapples fit the bill. I hacked off the top of a pineapple over a year ago, stuck it in a pot, and forgot about it. The resulting astonishingly beautiful flower is more of a testament to the resilient inner life of the plant than it is to the skill of the gardener.
But now that it is here, I'm intrigued. There are so many interesting facts about the pineapple. The juice can be used to tenderize meat, clean machete blades, or swab boat decks. It is also said to help prevent macular degeneration, induce labor, even abortion, and cure venereal disease. The leaves are used to make textiles, rope, and thread to bead pearls, sew shoes, make fishing nets, and roll cigars. They even became a symbol of social prestige among the American colonists. Because of their rarity and cost, they were considered an extravagant luxury. All one had to do to achieve rock star notoriety was to display one on the dining room table.
But the most fascinating thing about the pineapple is the actual botany of the plant. The fruit, the actual pineapple, is a cluster of more than 200 flowers. You can see the first of the flowers beginning to bloom in the photo above. I just went out to check it again, and lo and behold, it is bursting with flowers! How did I never notice that? Here is the updated version:
Now that we are properly impressed with the pineapple's uses, social status and impressive birth and growth progress, here's another fact that will blow you away: the fruit is arranged in two interlocking helices, eight in one direction, thirteen in the other, each being a Fibonacci number. Yes. Pineapples are math! A Fibonacci sequence, which I'm sure math majors must already know, begins with zero and one, and then each subsequent number is the sum of the previous two. Whoa. Now I'm in way over my head, but apparently the pattern of the way the sprouts grow is a mathematical sequence that is also found in the uncurling of a fern, the flowering of an artichoke, the branching of trees, and the arrangement of a pinecone.
How cool is that?? When I consider the pineapple, I am awed at the complexity of the natural world. Exquisite beauty and intense simplicity are just the ruse to draw you deeper into the mystery that begs to be studied and understood by botanists, mathematicians, and laymen alike. Consider the lowly pineapple. Who knew what was hiding deep within its fruit--math!!
God begs us to consider His exquisite beauty and delve deeper into the mystery of who He is. He draws us to Himself and tantalizes us with the creation He has left with us--it speaks to us, one awesome flower at a time. (He may even speak through mathematical equations, but that's a foreign language to me.)
All I know is that the inner life of this creation (moi) is buoyed by the fact that God, in His grace and mercy, has not left me to wither and die on the vine, but allows me to survive and thrive, and sometimes, even bear fruit. That Gardener, unlike me, is not a laissez-faire Gardener: He is ever-present, ever-watchful, and never lets His flowers die.
And that is an extravagant luxury I'd pay any price for.
"Stand and consider the wonders of God." Job 37:14
One of the most spectacular sights I saw in Europe was not a towering medieval cathedral, a marble statue, or a great masterpiece of art. It was the tulip fields at the Kuekenhof Gardens in Amsterdam. Here is where words fail me trying to describe it.
In addition to the spectacularly sculpted gardens, there were acres and acres of planted tulips, as far as the eye could see. The atmosphere was hushed, almost reverent. I was in college, just venturing out as an adult, and had never seen anything like it, never imagined such stunning beauty. Fast forward a few years. . .
'Two lips. Three lips. Four lips. . ." my two-year-old counted as we were passing some tulips on our morning walk one bright spring day in Delaware. As beautiful as the Kuekenhof Gardens were, seeing tulips from the eyes of a child makes you appreciate the whole world in a different way. Don't kids just say the darndest things?
Last spring I spent the blustery month of May in Chicago. It made me realize how much I miss the changing of the seasons. (Let me clarify: I do not miss Chicago winters!) It was still too cold for my Florida capris and open-toed sandals that I had packed, but I bravely bundled up my frozen now-tropical toes for morning walks. It was well worth it to smell the damp, rich earth as it pushed up the first signs of spring: tulips, crocuses, daffodils, and hyacinths.
When we bought our first house in Delaware as a young couple, one of our first tasks was to landscape our barren yard. We drove down to the local nursery and bought flowers, bushes, and trees--the house didn't even come with grass! My mom donated some of her prize roses, and we planted flowering gardenias (my husband never liked them--he said their smell reminded him of the graveyard), a Japanese maple tree, azaleas, and a magnolia bush. But by far the most spectacular plants in our yard were the tulips and daffodils.
Tulips are planted in the fall, not the spring, when they immediately begin to root. During the winter, when the landscape is covered with snow, and the earth is hard and frozen, they lay dormant. You almost forget about them--that's what's so surprising about them popping up in the spring. You've been concentrating so much on surviving the winter that you forget, every year, that spring is just around the corner. Soon after the tulips burst through the soil and majestically declare that winter is over, the plant begins to die. However, new growth continues in the deep, dark underground world where roots and bulbs reside. According to tulips.com "the period between blooming and the plant dying is referred to as the 'Grand Period of Growth'. . .the energy flow reverses and starts to go downward to build new bulbs instead of upward to form new flowers." It's not too much of a stretch to see the lesson here.
The tulips (and the three lips and the four lips) remind me that even on the coldest, darkest, gloomiest day, God is working in my life, in the deep recesses of my soul where no one can see. Although it may outwardly appear as if age is taking its toll and is marching towards its logical conclusion, it may actually be that the Grand Period of Growth has just begun! God has planted a seed that only the Master Gardner can sow, and only He can harvest. No one can stop its growth. Someday, (maybe even today!), it will push out into the sunshine and bloom with astonishing beauty. Thankfully, I am confident it will not smell like the graveyard--it will be an 'aroma pleasing to the Lord', not because of anything the flower has done for itself but because it is God's own handiwork.
Incredible? Amazing? Words fail me.
And that's not so surprising.
"Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come." 2 Corinthians 5:17
"But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place." 2 Corinthians 2:14
