When I was five years old, Mom and I decided to buy an aloe vera cactus and put it in a pot on our kitchen window. I remember how carefully we chose which plant was the best, which pot we should use, and which dirt we should put it in. I loved the idea of having a plant that had healing properties, and carefully patted it into the soil.
At first the aloe thrived, but soon it started misbehaving. (It might sound odd to say that a plant is misbehaving because plants don’t have a will. They just sit there, convert light into growth, and give off oxygen, right? Well, maybe. Remember the feisty little fern that grows on the chimney on my roof? That is the most faith-filled little plant I’ve ever known!)
Trust me when I say this aloe was pushy. It grew irregularly. It stuck its arms out through the slats of our blinds so we couldn’t shut them at night. It poked us when we were near the window. It stained the window sill so badly that only bleach would remove the orange underneath. The healing gel inside was too liquid to put on burns. It refused to be tamed with pruning, stakes, or ties, and always seemed to block what I wanted to see at the moment I wanted to see it.
Nine years later, the day finally came for the aloe to go. I had just refilled the birdfeeder with fresh seed and suet to attract migrating birds for the winter. I was planning to watch the birds at mealtimes and maybe paint a few but the aloe would have none of it. Instead of framing the window with a bit of green, it flopped over in the night so my morning view was blocked. When Mom tried to move it back upright, it poked her finger–again. That was IT. The healing aloe wasn’t healing, so I unplanted it as a statement of what I would and would not tolerate.
I refuse to make room for things that block my vision! I will not allow things to harass me while pretending to be helpful! I will not accept hurt in place of healing! Enough is enough!
What’s your aloe?
