This is not about people outgrowing their clothes or undergarments. This is about my Mamaw Girdle/Myrtle. She and my daughter Sara share a trait I don’t have: a green thumb.

Mamaw Girdle/Myrtle could grow any flower or plant. If she planted it, it grew. As far back as I can remember, she had flowers growing next to the carport. I think they were azaleas. They were lush and in many colors. She also had a flower garden out in the front yard. That’s the one where I always loved to dig up bugs and other icky stuff. She didn’t mind as long as I didn’t dig up one of her flowers.

Even now, I have fond memories of Mamaw singing hymns as she tended to her many plants.

One day I had one of my bright ideas in that I wanted to have my own flower garden too. I envisioned it to be as colorful and lush as Mamaw’s. First, I found a small spot under a huge tree in my grandparents’ front yard. It was about the size of a plate. I cleared it off and laid a few rocks around it from their driveway.

Then I walked around their yard and looked for pretty little plants I could put into my new little garden. I carefully dug them up and planted them in mine. I watered them every day, but I didn’t sing to them. I didn’t want them to die.

After I had my garden full of plants, I proudly showed it off to Mamaw Girdle/Myrtle. “I have my own flower garden too.”

She bent over and inspected my little plants. “Where did you find these?”

“Around the yard. If they were pretty, I dug them up and planted them here.”

“Honey, these aren’t flowers; they’re weeds.”

“But they’re so pretty!” I protested. It blew me away that after all of my hard work, I had a garden of weeds.

But I didn’t let that stop me. I had handpicked those flowers…er…weeds and I was going to still take care of them and see how well they would grow. And that I did. Within a few days my little garden was totally different.

All of my little weeds died. Yep. They shriveled up and turned brown. I could literally kill weeds. Maybe I could’ve sung to them after all.

Over the years, I have tried a few more times to grow plants. Give you one guess what happened. Yep. Each one died.

It’s more than not having a green thumb. Apparently, I possess the thumb of death for plants. I finally stopped trying to grow anything that is planted in the dirt.

I know what some of you are thinking. “But Brooke, you don’t believe in giving up!” You’re right. I don’t. To me, it was more of an act of mercy for the plants than it was giving up.
Now I joke about it. “Plants scream in horror when I walk into a garden; even the weeds.” Or “Maybe I could earn extra money by killing weeds in people’s gardens. All I have to do is touch them.” Come to think about it, I am environmentally safer than the chemicals found in weed killers.

“The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.” Isaiah 40:8 (KJV)

This verse brings me peace. No matter what goes wrong on this side of Eternity, we need to take security in the word of God. Nothing can change it or ever take it away.
A few years ago, Tim and Sara bought some flowers to plant in front of the house. He asked if I was going to help plant them. I replied, “What have you got against those pretty flowers? Are you wanting them to die?”
But I did get to contribute by sitting my dinosaur in the flower bed. Thankfully, it’s porcelain. Mamaw Girdle/Myrtle would be so proud.