You will know the truth and the truth will set you free! John 8:32
A while back in the middle of the night I found myself watching a documentary on the Pitcher Plant. Perhaps it was my groggy state, or my laziness I watched it in its entirety. I can assure you it was not an overwhelming desire to know more about the carnivorous plant that kept the television channel on the program.
A little while later my husband and I were talking to a friend. He’d asked did we know what a pitcher plant was? My husband and I spoke simultaneously each with a different answer. I was the affirmative, he was the negative. As our friend spoke of a pitcher plant bog in southern Alabama I listened with interest; I did make a note but was not adding it hard and fast to the vacation agenda.
When our vacation arrived we spent one day, as we have done traditionally for many years – Martin Adventuring Day – with no real agenda except to make our way to a favorite small town.
As we traversed Highway 98, the scenic and not-so-scenic we encountered locals and beautiful older than Alabama trees with hanging Spanish moss. We saw old homes that I mused must have been made of good stuff because despite their obvious age and numerous destructive weather phenomena they would have witnessed, those old bungalows were still upright. Just before we crossed some big bridge over a bay we stumbled upon the Pitcher Plant Bog.
I am not sure exactly what type of fanfare I expected for a mass of meat-eating plants. Perhaps I thought we would find a guide or two, dressed like the documentary folks, or that character from low-budget jungle movies that have some long-lost field worker found wearing a hat with mosquito netting, khaki shorts that meet tall brown calf covering socks, a shirt with lots of pockets, and a slightly diminished British accent.
As we took the self-guided tour in the blazing heat of the Alabama Sun we spied several of the carnivorous plants. After an hour or more We had taken a few photos, all agreed that – they weren’t nearly as large as we thought they’d be, – there sure could be a lot of snakes hiding out, – we were hungry, – it was “hotter than the Devil’s armpit” out, and – we had seen enough.
As our day moved on and we adventured our way to the various places, I put the Pitcher Plants in the back of my mind.
Several weeks later we were at a clubhouse of sorts. Over the course of time there all of us had gone to the restroom. As I walked in I noticed the imitation flower arrangement sitting on the commode tank, a decorative piece, clearly placed there for its exotic look and appealing colors. I knew immediately what it was – an arrangement of fake Pitcher Plants. As I sat cautiously, I giggled and wondered if anyone else had given much thought to the decor of the bathroom. As the carnivores looked over my shoulder I became a bit uncomfortable and found myself speeding things up a bit.
I didn’t mention the arrangement to anyone, it was out of my mind in no time and I moved on with the tasks I had at hand.
As our time at the clubhouse came to a close I was approached by Shelton, his hair dripping from hours of swimming. He pulled me and insisted I “see something important!”
I gave in to his imploring and followed the point of his finger to the bathroom,
“How do you like that? Do you think anybody knows when they are using it those could eat them if they were real?”
He burst into laughter, I laughed too at his recognition of the those and how a similar thought had crossed my mind.
We parted ways, he to the do his job of outside pickup, and I to the kitchen to put away leftovers.
As I packed away the leftovers My youngest petitioned me loudly from down the hallway.
“Mama! Maaa-ma! Come quick!”
I bolted down the hallway to see my youngest pointing at the commode. A slight panic overtook me. “We’ve ruined the clubhouse toilet- where had I seen that plunger?!”
“Look Mama! It’s the plants!”
She had recognized them too.
Relief washed over me as I praised her for her recognition and excitement. I tucked the experience in my mind and moved on with my clean up duties.
Prior to the Annual Martin Adventure, we had no idea what those weird-looking plastic plants were. There was no recognition of their power or uniqueness. We had no point of reference really. After the hour at the bog, the Martins knew and even found the humor in such an oddly placed plant.
The King’s Word can be like that. When we do not know it, know the Truth it encompasses, understand the solidarity that accompanies it when studied together, and the comfort it freely gives, we are not able to recognize it when we are confronted with a counterfeit. When we are fed a fake we do not know it, we do not fully recognize it, because we have not experienced the genuine.
Shelton and Maggie recognized the likeness of the Pitcher Plant but because they knew the real one. They also recognized there was no threat of the fake ones sitting on the back of the potty.
We must know the Word, must long to explore and understand its Truth so that when we are confronted with a fake we are able to recognize it as such.
All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.
2 Timothy 3:16 ESV
womanhood” memorial stone, a keepsake for her future self to hold onto as the winds of life began to blow stronger and more forcefully. We wanted to have some hard conversations with her, speak truth to her, explain God’s standards for young womanhood, and pray over her. We wanted to prepare her heart and mind for the road ahead; to set a strong foundation so when temptations began knocking on her heart’s door she would have already made the decision about how she would respond. And we wanted to let her know, ultimately, whether or not she chose to serve the King with her life, that would have to be her choice. No matter how hard I might try, I can’t force my girl to love her Savior with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength. That would have to be her decision wrapped up in the small decisions she made, and makes, every single day.
As we were praying and researching I happened upon a “retreat in a box” called “
So we planned our trip. My girl was totally on board and excited about the prospect of this memory-making moment. I let her plan the location and the activity (Nashville and facials). I collected letters and prayed and prepared and we set off on our trip. But the Lord had a life altering surprise waiting for us. A spiritual marker that continues to impact my girl and me.
asked for discernment as I listened to her responses to my questions. As we came to the end of our conversation, I asked her, “Will you choose to walk in the way of your Master? Will you choose to love Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength? Will you choose to serve Him with your life? Will you choose to submit to His ways? Will you choose to become a slave to righteousness (Romans 6:18-19)?”
surrender her life to Him. She actually had her ears triple pierced recently. I asked her why, and she took me back to that memorial stone moment. “Mom, it’s just a needed reminder that I belong to my Master. He is mine and I am His.” And I thank God for His gentle whispers and His grace and mercy, His Word, and the choice my girl made to serve her King. It’s not an easy choice, or an easy road, but He alone is worth it. Because there is none like Him.
much thought about what I was wearing. She looked at it and said, “Grandmama, dat’s church.” On my shirt were words and a T in one of the words had been made to look like a cross. I was so proud of her for making the connection. I agreed with her and said, “Yes, it is church. We love to go to church. We see our friends, and play, and sing songs about Jesus.” This child will never remember a time when she didn’t go to church. I pray she will always desire to go to church. I pray she will come to know Jesus at an early age and will follow Him all of her life.
out the windows. As they passed our church, the oldest asked, “Why is there a T in front of that building?” I don’t know the exact conversation that followed, but the parents realized that their child had no idea what a church was and what a cross represents. To rectify this situation, they sent their children to Vacation Bible School that summer. I don’t know if they now attend a church where they live, or if they continue to send them to a VBS.
We toss the word community around these days in an off-hand way. It’s a buzzword for this generation. We’ve trivialized it to the point it’s just a grandiose word for your group of friends, those you hang out and socialize with. We want to be a part of the forest and still be our own individual tree. We want to be accepted and included and involved (when we’re not too busy!), but we don’t want the responsibility of reciprocating that acceptance and inclusion and involvement in the lives and problems of others. We sacrifice relationships and the community that is built when we screen our calls to avoid that difficult encounter or manipulate a social setting to our liking.
My Mama’s mama, my Mam-Maw was green before it was even a thing. She composted before it had a name in hoity-toity magazines as a way of enriching one’s soil. She never discarded a non-biodegradable milk jug in the trash. She repurposed them into bird feeders, kitchen scrap collectors, toilet brush holders, and ice water containers. She would fill them with water from her kitchen tap and place them in her ancient non-frost free refrigerator. I can still remember my sister and I scraping the “little ice” from her freezer and eating it – we ate shaved ice before it was even a thing! That milk jug ice water was the coldest and best tasting water. I’ve had all manner of bottled waters since and they all pale in comparison.
She loved trees, she loved to watch them and smell them. She would go outside, sit, and then she’d grow quiet. She would speak only to point out a squirrel nest or a particular kind of bird home. She used to tell me that each of her grandkids was represented by a particular kind of bird. I wish I’d had the foresight then to remember everyone’s. I only remember mine. A Robin red breast, she’d say “because they are unique and Mamie you are a unique youngin.” She saw something in me I reckon that I didn’t and evidently the Robin red breast had the same qualities.
I was spending an afternoon doing the aforementioned, when I thought about life-giving trees. As I exhaled deeply, the thought that my carbon dioxide would be turned into oxygen confirmed that life-giving hypothesis. I pondered on and chatted with the King and I recollected another kind of life-giving tree. The one my precious King was nailed to. The tree that ran red with blood spilled so that I could enter the Holy of Holies and talk freely with the God of the universe. A tree that lent itself to an unimaginable death so that I, we, could be part of a new covenant established and be in relationship with God.
become National Teacher of the Year that would require development as well. It would mean getting the proper education and training. It would also require development in specific areas: classroom management and organizational skills, understanding children and learning styles, getting continuing education and National Board certification, and mastering the dynamics of being a highly contributing, highly respected part of a faculty.
a welcome and frequent diversion. I remember spending those first of many pool-going times counting. Counting people to make sure all were afloat, no one had drowned on my watch. I also spent a lot of time treading water. Hours in the deep end turned to days it seemed. Teaching children the art of something that is second nature to me, something I could do long before I could walk. Reaching for little hands extended in my direction constantly encouraging and cheering on, “just a little farther, you can do it.” Reassuring time and again that the water was nothing to be really afraid of but to be watchful and on the alert at all times, a healthy fear, is what my Mama calls it.
These trees that surround that place have witnessed much. In the Martin home alone it witnessed, Ellie Grace’s first steps, the emotional caution that always follows a period of uncertainty, countless refereed arguments amongst those named Martin, milestone birthdays, a visiting raccoon that had a hankering for sweets, his craving quickly satisfied by said arguing Martins. Each upcoming school year lesson plans laid out and navigated on the umbrella covered wrought iron table, none exceptionally level, but very functional all the same.
Priceless 