TIM E HOLDER

On Mother’s Day, 1995, my sister Jacqui and I spent the day preparing a special gift for our mom. The condo she lived in was in a great part of town. But, there was very little lawn around her except for a green space that separated her row of condos from the next row behind her.

Jacqui and I gathered up two of her available kids, TJ and Tad, and we went to the local garden store. Mom has many, many gifts. A green thumb is not one of them. So, we looked for plants that wouldn’t take much work, but she could occasionally water and just watch grow.

We bought a “hosta, which I saw in a neighbors garden and I loved, and a rose bush and a few other self-sustaining plants we hoped she would like and not kill. We asked the garden specialists what we needed to build a garden that would last. And they gave us wise choices on how to proceed. We bought the right kind of ground covering material that would keep weeds from growing in her garden. We bought good soil. We put in a garden barrier to keep the good soil from eroding away during bad weather. And we spent the day, not knowing exactly if we were doing the right things, but hoping we weren’t messing the whole thing up.

We carefully installed the barrier in a ‘u’ shape backed by mom’s deck. We laid out the black material covering and cut holes in places we thought the plants would make the best appearance. We planted the “hosta” in an area that would get lots of sunlight. We thought it would have the best potential for growth there.  We planted the rose bush close to the steps up to the deck so mom would get the best view of the flowers. We fertilized the soil and watered all the plants.

We were all tired and sunburned a bit. But, proud of what we accomplished. And Mom, of course, loved it. And those plants did grow. Every couple of weeks one of us would go over and make sure they were watered and no weeds were showing up.

A team effort that paid off. The “hosta” grew and spread over much of the immediate area and was lush and green and healthy. So was the rose bush. It produced many roses over the years that mom would cut and set in a small vase on her supper table.

We were proud of that garden. So I was a bit concerned for it, some fifteen years later, when we were moving mom to a retirement village. You don’t leave something that you’ve invested so much time and energy in behind without wanting to know it will be tended to and taken care of.  The condo was already paid for, so it was no big deal to drive by every once in a while just to check on it.

One of the renters was an older lady who obviously cared for the little garden. Several years ago, when the garden was 20 years old, on Mother’s Day, I took Mom by the condo and we knocked on the door. I asked the lady if she would mind if I pulled up a bit of the “hosta” to take home to my house in Little Rock. She, of course said it would be fine. She noted that she didn’t plant it. But, she enjoyed taking care of it. The “hosta” was huge. Mom and I went out back and I uprooted a few small pieces of it and brought them home to Little Rock and planted them out front of my house, just under my big red leaf maple tree.

Of course, as much as we try to take care of our plants, we don’t ultimately know what the final result will be. Just keep feeding them well and watering them and watching for signs of growth. The “hosta” took root where they were planted and they grew well.

This past September, on Labor Day we moved mom to Fayetteville, to a great retirement village, where she would be closer to grandkids and great grandkids. It was decided to sell the condo instead of renting it out to help pay for Mom’s new digs.

It was 5 days before closing and I told Jacqui I wanted to get a few more cuttings of the “hosta” to plant in my yard. So, before going to her apartment to help load her up, I went to the condo, where no one was living.

I walked to the back and literally gasped. It was obvious the last occupants didn’t care anything about the little garden. They didn’t know it’s history. They didn’t know the work and love that was invested in years of taking care of these plants. To them, they were just any other old plants. Weeds filled the small area and the edges of the leaves of the once beautiful “hosta” were brown from lack of oxygen and nourishment. I walked around to the other side and saw vines growing out of the cracked, dry ground and crawling up the side of the deck. And I saw that the vines were completely wrapped around the old rose bush, choking the life out of it. Old food wrappers and plastic water bottles were thrown everywhere without any care for the garden  My heart broke.

But, just as broken as my heart was for the broken memories, so was my resolve to do everything I could to make those plants healthy again. I knew that in order to give these precious, God-created expressions of His glory a chance, I would have to move them to a healthier environment. When I told Jacqui I was going to run by the condo and get get a few more cuttings from the “hosta” she said, “Just be careful to make it look like you didn’t take any.”

”Okay.”

I dug up every last bit of that plant. There were empty plant containers under the deck with trash in them. I dumped the trash and carried 15 loads of “hosta” to the back of the truck.

I walked around to the old rose bush and dug it up as well. I was scared it would not survive. There was very little green left on it. All of it’s branches were dead except one. But, I remembered how we planted it in good soil and I hoped that those first nurturing moments, filled with love and expectancy would still be alive and kicking in there somewhere and wanting to survive as much as I wanted it to. 

I loaded it all in the truck and went to mom’s apartment and helped my family pack up all of mom’s belongings, hugged all my family as they rolled to Fayetteville, gave my sister in law a bucket of “hosta” and I headed home.

I stopped at my favorite garden center and asked for wise counsel on how to best take care of my plants. One of the guys walked to the truck with me and looked at all the “hosta” containers. He told me in order to save them, I would need to cut them all down to about 4 to 6 inches from the root. I needed to plant them just so the root was covered well by soil. Winter is coming and they are tender and would need added protection. He said the soil would be very important right now. I needed to make “super soil.” I needed to mix. equal parts of organic compost, or new soil, with older soil and some “Jump Start.”

Then he looked  at the old, gnarled rose bush.

I could tell by his resigned expression he was going to say there was no hope for it. It was neglected far too long. And he almost did say that. But, he added that because the bush carried sentimental reasons, the best I could try was to cut away all the dried up branches and leave only the one that was still struggling to survive. Cut away the dead ends of the root, exposing the meat inside. And hope for the best.

I took all that new knowledge and wisdom and went home. I cut the “hostas” and tore them apart and planted them, buried in new soil, out close to the other ones I planted a few years back. Within a week, they were all sprouting new leaves. And now they are growing like crazy. I know they will lose their new foliage for the winter. But, I know the roots are strong again and will flourish in the spring.

I was worried about the old rose though. I cut off the old branches that were no longer useful. I trimmed the root system so new growth could occur. I planted it just next to the steps leading up to my front door. I watched anxiously and waited. I kept thinking of the joy of family planting it together and how mom loved it. 

But, nothing was happening. And then, about a month  ago, I walked outside to check on all my new plants, and here is what I found.

Maybe, just maybe, somewhere in that old branch was the memory of what sustained it when it was just a small plant. It knew where it came from and couldn’t deny what it was made to be.  And maybe, just maybe, the Lord wanted me to be a small part in displaying His creation, for His glory. He is the God of resurrection after all. Something I cared about in it’s infancy, almost lost because of negligence and apathy by others out of my control, almost lost, but brought back again because I chose to make the first investment, and then the second investment. Not giving up. Even praying.

Not knowing how it will turn out is hard. But, knowing there is even a 1% chance of returning beauty makes the anticipation worth it. I don’t know what will happen through the winter. But, I know this. I will trust God with the outcome. I invested my time and energy. Not once, but twice. I did the work of pruning and eliminating the dead and dying branches that would do more harm than good. Teamwork planted and nurtured that rose bush well, not once but twice. And I will continue to pour fresh water and good soil  into it’s roots.

I am certain anyone reading this will understand the lesson. My sister said, “It’s just like us. God has to prune away all the dead leaves before real growth and life can take place.”

Take the time to invest in the plants the Lord places in your life. Invest as many times as it takes. Even when you’re not sure of the outcome, it’s only our job to plant and water. It is God’s purpose to make things grow. It’s a team effort.  Us, wise counsel and God. 

1 Corinthians 3:6-8. says, “I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will each be rewarded according to their own labor.”

I’ll continue to plant and water and anticipate and expect God to make that old rose bush grow as He wants. And I’ll continue to invest. Last week, when I least expected it, I walked outside and found, just at the foot of my door steps…