Keep Growing

Every summer I can't help myself but open the windows every time I drive past the mint fields on my very familiar route to and from work. The strong, sweet, refreshing smell blowing on the wisps of the wind seem to touch my soul. And it's the same, every summer, it's harvested down to nothing, stubble. A lush field going from green to a red-brown. If you didn't know of its return, you'd think it was done, gone for the season. But then. But then it comes back just as vibrant.

I don't even know why, it speaks to my heart. Maybe I want to be like that. Maybe it speaks of some sort of significance that I'm still trying to figure out. If you cut it down to one inch from the soil, it'll grow back again, maybe even twice. Every time I see it harvested, I know it's not done. From all appearances it seems that the hope is gone. I know better, if it's watered it'll grow- yet again. It's one of those plants that if you plant it, you start with little and every year after, you'll have more. It's not so much a question of how much you want, but how to contain it. It lays down runners and every year comes back greater.

It seems too easy to grow mint. If you water it, it'll grow. If you plant it, more will grow, to a point that it can't be undone. Keep growing, keep harvesting. I want a faith like that. A faith that can be cut to the ground and come back strong. That maybe when it looks like nothing is happening, the runners are being put down, the roots springing up. A faith that can't be contained. A faith that has hope resurrecting. A faith that is lush and refreshing. That kind of faith requires water. That kind of faith results in a harvest. That kind of faith is what others are after.