by Kat Silverglate, Mission Founder, Copyright 2022

I think back on that day and I wonder, was I mad?

I mean, how could I possibly be angry? By every visible measure, the thing had been dead for ages. And it wasn’t a sudden death either. It was this slow, gradual, painful fade that I fought like heck to prevent, but couldn’t stop.

It had been a gift from my firm during a medical challenge. It arrived in this spectacular container that must have been lovingly created by a florist who chipped a hole the body of a tree trunk section, left the bark on the outside completely intact, sunk the tangle of messy roots into the well, and then covered the trunk top with gorgeous green moss.

The day it arrived, the thing was so heathy and vibrant that the leaves stood straight with zero support. And the blooms? Angel white the size sand dollars so heavy that wood rods and clips kept them from toppling the arrangement over. It wasn’t just a gift. It was God’s living art.

Knowing nothing about the care and feeding of an orchid, I treated it like one might a vase of fresh cut flowers: lots of water; a spot in the center of the dining room table; and little regard for time in direct sunlight. When the wilted blooms started to dot the table like jumbo confetti and the leaves decided to permanently recline after turning a jaundiced yellow, I tried everything to save it. Less water. More sun. Pruning. Pep talks. Springsteen. Nothing worked. Sentimentally attached and not ready to admit defeat (even after it shrunk by half to a brittle brown root ball) I decided to move it to the furthest corner of the pool deck where I hoped it would one day come miraculously to life. By the time spring cleaning came around, it was difficult to be angry when the orchid, trunk and all, got swept up and thrown in the trash.

Here’s what I would come to learn about orchids. I wish I remembered who taught me this so I could give attribution here, but I don’t. All I know is this tiny tutorial changed the way I see just about everything that appears to be hopeless. If you tie the roots of an orchid to a living tree with burlap – or some other material that allows water to flow though the roots – it will come alive as long as the roots attach to the bark. Sounds odd, I know, but it works; at least in Florida’s tropical environment. I tested it by pulling every dying orchid I could find from trash heaps and by convincing friends to give me their dead plants.

After tying a fair number of “dead” orchids to live trees, I can say this with some conviction – It’s pretty darn hard to find a dead orchid. No matter how far gone it looks on the surface, attach those roots to a living tree and see what happens.

The tree in our front yard is now loaded with what once looked like dead orchids. Each one blooms at different times of year. Some yellow and small. Some white and round. Some fragrant and ruffly on the edges. The roots are plump and swollen and they’ve attached so aggressively to the bark, that in many spots, they are now hidden in the folds of the tree. Even if you wanted to remove them from this tree that has given them life, you’d have a hard time doing so without cutting the roots free with a scissor or a knife. Witnessing the transformation that healthy attachment brings has been remarkable and pretty much what God tells us about our own vibrance.

The Lord says to us, his kids,

“Remain in me as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine and you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.”

John 15:4-5

Don’t you love that? The directness of that? The hope? Weary? Dry? Hopeless? Attach, He says. Attach to the source of all life. Like the branch to the vine. Like the orchid to the tree.

Attach.

And remain.

If ever there was a cultural moment to pause and reflect on the health of our attachments, now certainly seems ideal. By just about every criterion – financial, political, social, environmental – we live in challenging times. To what and to whom are we attaching to find renewal? To find hope? To find refreshment? For many, substantial segments of life feel as brittle and dry as that trashed orchid. We reach for important things to refresh and help us – nutrition, exercise, medical attention, therapy – and we should. They are good gifts. But if we did an attachment inventory – how might we describe our “remain in Him” moments? How are we abiding right now?

Our mission this month is simple. In your mission pack, you will find two items. A red sticker that says “Do not throw away” and a small green fabric vine. For the next 30 days, will you consider doing an attachment inventory? Each day in June, list the areas of life that feel dry and brittle. Perhaps you’ve trashed the idea of finding hope in that area. Let’s dig that out of the bin and give it a prayerful look. Begin a list of the things you’ve attached to or are attaching to in order to find renewal. For each of them, how would you say you are “remaining in” the Lord? Attaching to Him? Abiding in Him?

When you look at the word orcHID, notice how the word HID is buried in there. Hidden in plain sight. God wants us to literally find ourselves hidden in Him. Like the root that gets buried in the bark.

Will you put that very green vine in a visible place to remind you that remaining in the vine brings life?

After all, our lives are “hidden with Christ in God.” Col 3:3

Amen? Amen!