The Cat and the Peace Lily: A Lesson in Perseverance

This post appeared in the Fall 2021 issue of Live, the adult take-home paper for the Assemblies of God.  

Walking through the dining room, I noticed something stuck to my slipper. A closer look identified the slimy green glob as a couple of well-chewed leaves. 

“DEXTER!!!” 

My cat jumped guiltily from the hutch to the floor and disappeared, leaves still poking out from his sharp little teeth, while I gathered up the sad remains of my peace lily. Dexter had been in the plant before, but I thought a water gun and well-timed loud noises had convinced him to leave it alone. I was wrong; the plant’s leaves were shredded beyond recognition and the stalks pretty much mowed down to the soil.  

This wasn’t just any old peace lily. Following my sister’s funeral three years prior, my devastated brother-in-law dumped a carload of live plants onto an unused porch area and left them there, unable to bring himself to arrange and care for them. A few weeks later, I rescued the peace lily, one of the few plants that looked like there might still be hope for it. Remembering its lustrous leaves, cards from my sister’s former coworkers tucked among them at the memorial service, I decided to give it a chance. 

As I nursed it back to health, that peace lily became my personal symbol of hope—hope of being reunited with my sister and other loved ones in heaven, hope of Jesus restoring all things, hope in my own personal value to a loving God in spite of financial setbacks and a fight with cancer. The plant grew, moved into a larger pot, and looked beautiful, eventually rewarding me with a pretty white flower. 

Then we got Dexter. Our elderly previous cat had shown little interest in houseplants, but her replacement considered them tasty targets, and the peace lily was his favorite. After trying spikes in the soil, cayenne pepper, and other suggestions, I achieved a measure of success with the squirt gun, until the day his self-control utterly failed him. 

I cried as I cleaned up the mess, but tears turned to determination as I remembered the peace lily had already overcome a less-than-ideal start. There was barely anything left sticking out of the soil to work with, but I trimmed the stubby, mangled stems, faithfully applied plant food, and kept the plant in a room the cat didn’t frequent. And it grew back. As it did, I reminded myself that love and family and hope in Christ didn’t depend on visible circumstances; there was still a good root system underneath. 

A few months later, though, a remodeling project required moving my plants. And in a moment of forgetfulness, I left the cat with access to the new location. He spent a little time munching on a philodendron, but then zeroed in on his old favorite. Once again, my peace lily was reduced to nearly nothing. 

Now, any sensible person would probably think I should have either been way more vigilant, chosen plants the cat didn’t like, or gotten rid of the cat. But all in all, he’s an enjoyable cat. He loves to be petted, and he keeps our storage room mouse-free. But he forgot his training, and I temporarily let down my guard. Similarly, negative thoughts and discouragement can creep in, even by way of friends or activities we enjoy, and especially if I become lax in Bible reading, prayer, and regular Christian fellowship. 

So once again, I freshened up the soil and fertilized the remains of the plant. It presently resides in a sunny window at my dad’s house, and since I’m responsible for maintaining Dad’s home as he resides in long-term care, I visit it regularly. Its leaves are again dark green and vibrant, and there are signs that I might even get another flower.  

Sometimes my cat goes with me to that house. He’s good company while I clean and paint and keep up the lawn and garden. But he’s still a cat, and after a couple of close calls, I’m onto his sneakiness. I adapted a sturdy plastic tote bag as a cover for the peace lily, and placing it over the pot is one of the first things I do after I walk in the door. 

There will always be circumstances and incidents that attack my joy, my peace, and my hope in Christ. As I write this, the world is grappling with the COVID-19 pandemic and our nation is reeling from a tragic racial incident; closer to home, several family members and friends are facing financial or health challenges. 

These aren’t the first crises in my lifetime, and until Jesus returns, they likely won’t be the last. My resilient peace lily, though, is a reminder that God isn’t surprised by a crisis. He is in control. The roots of my hope are still there. When I feel like I’ve been chewed by a marauding cat of discouragement, I need to feed and water those roots and keep a close watch, encouraging myself and anyone else I can with God’s word. 

Dexter the cat, enjoying a car trip to the house where the peace lily lives. .