The Legend of the Mother of all Spider Plants

Personal note to the staff of Mid America Rehab Hospital:
     After my stroke, when the congregation in Independence that had called me to be their pastor decided they needed to terminate me, believing they couldn't afford the time and risk the uncertainty required to make this journey of recovery with me, and that they needed an unspoiled pastor to lead them right then, you became my faith community.  Get that!  A medical facility as faith community!  So many of you were unafraid to claim what was happening in my body as a miracle, and you affirmed and encouraged me through every tiny step, escorting me to recovery.  None of you imposed your beliefs on me, and so many of you accepted my expressions of faith, and were willing to listen to me talk about what God was doing in my body.  Who says the church is confined to buildings and traditions?  You are the church to me.  Thank you for your faith and your faithfulness.  I am etermally indebted to you.  I'll be bringing plants to you over the next week or so when I'm there for outpatient therapy.  I can't wait to see you.  Thank you for saving my life.
Blessings!
Rev Linda Miller

     I lived for 16 years in the Phoenix, AZ area.  There I started a new church, Chalice Christian Church.  The Blairs were one of the families of that new church.  On their patio, atop an impressive plant stand, there lived the “Mother of all Spider Plants.”  I call her that because this majestic plant was not only bigger than any I had seen before, she produced a veritable plethora of “babies” on tiny stems.  These babies had their own root systems and looked for all the world like they could survive right out there in the air.  But of course, as regenerants of earth-bound chlorophytum comosum  (sounds like a spell from the Harry Potter series, doesn’t it?), they needed dirt in order to grow. 
     As a farmer’s daughter I could go on and on about dirt.  But that would be to digress.  Here’s the point:  In the middle of the Sonoran Desert, dry, often barren, this Mother of all Spider Plants lived on her throne, a pedestal of sorts, and there she produced innumerable “baby” plants.  And there in the arid, unpromising climate, where no one with any wisdom at all would bet on the future of a fragile new plant, she sent them out into the world to find their fortune, just like the 3 little pigs. They broke away from their tiny stems and the wind flung them around the yard till their roots grabbed hold, I suppose.   I found my very own “Mother” rooted in the earth near the patio of my friends Heidi and Nick.  They had asked me to live in their house while it was on the market, and I happily obliged.  Exploring their back yard, I found “Mama” growing in the place where she had taken root at the edge of their patio.  She was pretty hardy, I must say.  Transplanted to a pot outside my apartment door, she thrived just like her mother plant had thrived. 
     There were elements that encouraged these “Mothers” and they are vital parts of the legend. There was water.  In the desert, many homeowners flood irrigate their yards.  It works just like you might imagine.  On a regular schedule, the homeowner opens a valve that releases water to the yard, which has raised borders on all sides, to hold the water like a bowl.  This watering technique actually mimics the natural process of irrigation that happens in less arid areas of the earth where rainfall is more plentiful.  There were also all the other natural elements that sustain vegetation, like sun and rest and cultivation.  How my “Mother” plant got everything she needed, I’ll never know.  I just will never forget the morning I found her thriving there in spite of the fact that she could have more easily perished, and I knew I had to take her home. 
     The plant I am giving you today is from the daughter of the original “Mother” plant.  She is yours because you have played a part in the miracle that has preserved my life, even when, like her, I could have more easily perished.  Your plant comes from a “Mother” with remarkable DNA.  Don’t mess with her.  She’s a gift to you and to me. 
     When I moved from Phoenix to Independence, MO to start a new ministry (which didn’t pan out because the folks of that church thought I couldn’t do the job for them after my stroke), I brought “Mama” with me.  Packed her into my little Prius and away we went!  In the winds of our unusual MO summer of 2012, she blew over, breaking her pot.  The church member who was retrieving my mail picked her up and plopped her into another pot.  Subsequently, my daughter Stacey-with-the-green—thumb broke this root-bound “Mama” into many smaller pots, most of which I will be keeping out of respect for the “Mama.”  The “babies” from the “Mama” are yours.  You have given me the most precious gift of new life after my stroke in July.  God did the biggest part, but you, my friend, have been one of God’s most important helpers.  I can never thank you enough.  And so just receive this little plant and water her and talk to her, and watch her grow, and know all the while that she represents the work you do… holding life precious, nurturing life, fostering hope.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.