Lessons From the Watering Hose
The water bill arrived yesterday.
A collective groan could probably be heard from every gardener across the high desert. During August, opening the water bill is a little like opening a medical bill. You know it isn’t going to be good.
This month, our water bill is more than my very first house payment. Granted, that house payment was in 1977, but still. It seems outrageous.
I’ve often wondered exactly when they read the water meter. There aren’t meter readers running through the neighborhood carrying clipboards anymore. Sometimes I suspect they simply look at last month’s bill, double it, and mail it out.
According to our statement, we’ve used over 40,000 gallons of water this month. Forty thousand. I’ll simply take their word for it because there isn’t much point in arguing. Around here, the choices are fairly simple: pay the bill… or don’t get water.
Neither option feels especially satisfying.
Living on the high desert means accepting one simple truth. Water isn’t a luxury. It’s survival. Every green leaf, every rose, every tomato, every tree, and every blade of grass depends upon it. Miss a few days during August, and the garden lets you know immediately. Leaves droop. Flowers fade. The soil hardens. Life begins to struggle.
People aren’t all that different.
Some seem to need very little encouragement. They bloom almost anywhere. Others have lived through droughts we know nothing about. Their roots are shallow because life has been difficult. They need a little more kindness, a little more patience, a little more reassurance before they begin to flourish again.
I’ve also noticed that every plant drinks differently. The roses seem forever thirsty. The Japanese maple asks quietly for a long, slow soak. The lavender is perfectly happy with much less. Give it too much water, and it actually suffers. Tomatoes practically cheer when the hose comes their way, while the cactus rolls its eyes as if to say, “I’m fine. Move along.”
God must smile at His garden of people.
Some of us need words of encouragement every day. Others are strengthened by quiet acts of service. Some grow best surrounded by friends, while others need long stretches of peaceful solitude. None of us were designed exactly alike.
The trick isn’t giving everyone the same amount of water.
The trick is learning what helps each person grow.
Perhaps that means listening more carefully. Offering forgiveness a little sooner. Giving grace when someone seems unusually short-tempered. Checking on a lonely neighbor. Sending a note. Sharing a meal. Sitting quietly beside someone who simply needs to know they aren’t alone.
The funny thing about watering is that it rarely produces instant results. You don’t water a rose this morning and expect dozens of blooms by sunset. Growth takes time. Healthy roots develop slowly, one day after another, one careful watering at a time.
People are much the same. The kindness you offer today may not bloom for months. The encouragement you give someone may carry them through a season you’ll never know about. A simple smile may be exactly what another heart needed that day.
So yes, I’ll grumble just a little when next month’s water bill arrives.
Then I’ll pick up the hose once again.
Some things are simply worth watering.
