The whole reason I planted an Esperanza shrub in my garden,
besides its brilliant yellow blossoms, besides the joy it gave me to see
sunshine glowing through the emerald green, was for its name. Esperanza – hope in Spanish. At the time I planted it the heat and drought in Texas
seared heart, land, and as I discovered one especially depressed day, the soul!
That whole summer my golden Esperanza bush lightened my disposition, helped me
to breathe in huge lung-fulls of hope that fall would bring cooler weather and that there would, indeed, be an end to the desert that seemed to engulf me.
I cut the shrub back that winter after the leaves had defoliated
and the stems had turned brown. Held breath – ‘Did I kill it?’ Yet in spring
green leaves sprouted, hope returned and, though not as prolific, golden
blooms adorned my Esperanza shrub. Winter came again. I trimmed back the stems
now confident in a spring resurrection.
Green sprouts greeted me this year! Lush, vibrant, elegant, but no
blooms. What? Esperanzas all over town greeted this spring in yellow glory!
Mine was twice, three-times and more taller, fuller, more gloriously endowed in
leaves than any others. Yet there was no golden glory in my bush. I not only
puzzled over the dilemma, I actually became angry when I saw others’ hope blossom and mine remained barren.
Now, I reasoned it might have something to do with imbalanced
minerals in the soil, water – too much or too little, not thinking enough happy thoughts
or not speaking kindly to my plant! I researched. I fed. I even prayed over
my bush! Nothing. Finally, I decided that, regardless of the absence of golden
blooms, I must, and I did, begin to be grateful for such a huge, lush spot of
green in my otherwise weed-carpeted yard. Hmmm – you can preach this ‘clinging
to hope when there is no clear evidence of hope’, can’t you!
It reminded me of the time Ron and I moved to the States
from Africa. What would we do? Where would we live? I laid out my checklist,
informing God of the things we needed to be nurtured, held, and given a place
of peace. One day in the midst of, once again, praying my checklist, I laughed
at myself. “What am I doing? God knows what we need even better than we do! He
already has it covered. And I let go of every concern.” Within a very short
time we found our job, our home, and every item on my checklist ticked off.
Last
week as I watered my veggie garden, I happened to look up toward my Esperanza. “Is
that a tiny yellow spot midst the leaves?”
“Yes!” On the back of the plant almost hidden among the
greenery a small bunch of golden hope had begun to unfurl. One, two, six,
twelve – bunches of buds prepared to burst open! Now, each day finds new color -- and deeper understanding. On so many levels this year’s Esperanza
has been my teacher.
Hope isn’t really hope if it is always clearly seen! Hebrews 11:1 tells us that faith and hope go
hand in hand: Faith is the confidence
that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things
we cannot see.
I became upset with my Esperanza for not giving me those
coveted yellow blooms – I even became a bit jealous of the shrubs in town that
yielded color when my own plant did not. But I determined to be grateful for
what I had. After the gratitude, after the right attitude, I realized that my Esperanza bush had all
the hope I needed hidden away, ready to burst forth in its own time. But I had
to do my part. I had to have faith in it, wait, and believe.
