I think it was about a year ago when I went to confession and the priest gave me an analogy. He said that faith is like a little plant: you water it, it grows, you don't water it and it may become stagnant.
I have this plant I got when I moved to Wichita. My sister bought it for me almost nine years ago as an apartment warming present. I named it Elizabeth (the plant I'd gotten the spring before (that was still alive at the time) was named Mr. Darcy). Elizabeth is the only thing I've been able to keep alive - she's been a widow for about 8 years or so. Elizabeth is a pretty resilient plant - she can withstand not being watered for at least two weeks (if not more if I go out of town). Give her a few days and some coffee grounds and she perks right up.
She's been doing pretty well since I moved into my little blue condo - especially after the dark of the U's basement. Today, however, there are a ton of big, crisp, shiny, new leaves all over. Why? Because after a drought there came a little bit of water. Just a little, that's all I poured in last night. But the little brought so much beauty.
Why is it hard to trust that out of the minuscule hope there can come much beauty? Why do think that I need to be the one to bring the water? Why do I resist the dry patches so much? The dry patches stink. Kind of an awful lot actually. But after the dry there always comes much beauty and big crisp shiny newness.
God, help me wait. Help me to lean on you and know that the little bit of water you give me (and it's feeling like a trickle right now) will lead to beauty!!