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The Little Yellow Scoop

She loved plants. 

Everywhere you looked there were plants. 

Her tiny apartment was literally cluttered with plants.

She liked to see things grow.

She liked and needed to nurture. 

She lived alone, and plants, to some extent, satisfied that longing and desire.

With no husband to care for, and her children long since grown and busy with their lives, she had plenty of time on her hands. 

So these were her substitute children, in a way: her plants.

She would feed and water, revive and re-pot, shine and mist. 

With her keen and watchful eye, she could tell immediately when one of her living things was looking under-the-weather. 

She would try moving it to another location, or perhaps treat it with some organic pesticide and then pray for its speedy recovery.

Show and Tell
My twice-a-week visits to the plant lady were always an opportunity for her to show me the latest bud or bloom, or perhaps share with me her most recent acquisition, a piece of a neighbor’s plant she pinched off and placed in a jar to root. I knew her well. And those were sweet and special times. I say “were” because she passed away without warning a few months ago. My plant lady. My mother.

I don’t have the same love of houseplants that she did, although I have a few. Just the other day I was doing what was a chore to me. Re-potting a plant that had outgrown its container. I went outside to the shed, where we keep our yard supplies, in search of some potting soil. As I began to look, I spied a half-bag of potting mixture I had kept from my mother’s things. I brought it over to the patio table. As I opened it up and looked inside, I was surprised to see a small yellow scoop. And that small yellow scoop moved me to tears. As I reached for the handle, my heart ached as I thought of the hand that held it last. Now my hand was the first to hold it after hers.

I miss her desperately. I miss taking her shopping for more pots in which to plant more plants. And I am sorry, now, for scolding her for spending too much of her money on such unimportant things. Because they weren’t unimportant at all. They were what brought her happiness. And that was very important.

Emotional Memories
With my eyes full of tears, I finished the job. I thought of how happy she would be to know that I was caring for my plants, and how pleased she would be in knowing that her little yellow scoop had now become a part of my life.

Mother’s are like that, you know. They are forever a part of your life. Even though her apartment is empty, my heart is full. Full of the wonderful things she taught me. Full of the tender times she gave me. Full of her nurturing spirit that help me to thrive and to grow.

I love the plant lady. And I look forward to seeing her soon. To spending eternity with her and her new collection of plants. Plants that are ever-present and ever-green. Ever-lasting  and ever-alive!

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Emily Felts Jones is a Christian recording artist, writer and speaker who lives in Tennessee. Her greatest passion is sharing how Christ can call us out at any time during our lives to do a work for Him. "We may feel that the years have stolen our opportunities, but His timing is always perfect."