If My Hostas Could Talk

I knew when I planted them that it wouldn’t be ideal, but I did it anyway.

Six years ago, my sister gave me a bunch of Hosta plants. The long strip of crushed rock running along the east side of our fence screamed for something green and growing. Like most people, I knew Hostas love shade and that the strip would be too sunny for them. But since the plants cost me nothing, I plunged ahead.

Planting them turned out to be a crazy enough project to warrant a blog post of its own back in 2014. (Not, however, a story that made the cut for my book.) The job involved moving rock, chiseling holes through hard-packed gravel, filling them with compost, laying landscaping fabric on a windy day, and other exhausting shenanigans for which I have no energy six years later.

The Hostas have not exactly thrived. Oh, they’re gorgeous through June and partway into July. But by mid-summer, they usually look as appealing as an overflowing ashtray. Brown and burnt leaves replace lush and green ones. They are basically cooked.

It’s not the Hostas’ fault. Somebody planted them in a place where they were never intended to thrive.

Full disclosure. Not my hosta.

I pondered this one June day as I pulled weeds out from between them. They still looked beautiful and brimming with potential. They desperately needed dividing and still do, but any suitable spots I have for them would involve a repeat of the digging-holes-through-rock scenario. I can’t face it. So I leave them, knowing they’re going to do their best anyway.

I thought about how you and I were designed for a better place, too. The garden in which God placed his first people was beautiful beyond our imagination and perfectly good. Every physical, emotional, and relational need was met. Then our enemy moved in and nothing has been the same since.

We live in a broken world and deep inside, every one of us knows this is not where we truly belong. It’s why we demand justice and scream with indignation when confronted with evil, sickness, and death. Our souls long for a better place to grow to our full potential, where we can bless others with life and beauty.

But we remain stuck here. For now.

The wonder of my Hostas is that they have survived at all. They continue to grow, to reproduce, and to grace my yard with beauty despite their less than ideal conditions. They give what they can, when they can. I like to think they are stronger because they’ve had to survive the hot sun. Yes, they could do even better elsewhere and perhaps someday I will move them and give them that opportunity. Until then, they bloom where they are planted.

You and I can learn a lot from the humble Hosta plant. Let’s not wait for ideal circumstances. One day your creator will move you to a place of perfection, but until then…bloom!

“Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." (Jeremiah 17:7-8)