My Plumeria Tree

I am not a gardener. I do not have a green thumb. Truth be told, I’ve even killed a cactus. I’m not sure the fake poinsettias on my porch will survive my care. But there is one plant in my care that has thrived in the seven years I’ve owned it.

I bought my beloved plumeria tree six months after I married my husband at the annual Aloha Festival in San Francisco. And plumeria has long been my most favorite flower because it smells like my favorite place, Hawai'i. So that day, I bought a plumeria plant. It was small, maybe only fourteen inches tall, in a very small pot. I paid five dollars for it. Or maybe it was eight. In either case, it was a good deal. Who could have paradise in their own home for less? I also bought a plumeria for my parents who are by definition gardeners. My mom and dad can make anything grow. I envy their garden, their houseplants, their enthusiasm at pulling weeds and watering. Yet it is my plumeria that continues to blossom. Theirs, well, let’s just say it wasn’t meant to be.

One plumeria flourished, the other died. I don’t really know why my plumeria has flourished. I’ve already told you I don’t know the first thing about gardening. I like the idea of growing things. But I don’t do it very well. But I have a gorgeous plumeria tree that is now five feet tall and growing. Even my parents have remarked at my gorgeous tree and the off chance it would survive much less flourish in my care. But it has. And they’ve asked me many times what I do to it to make it grow so well. Besides watering and an unadulterated desire for it to grow, there is only one thing that I did that they didn’t.

Every summer I transplant my plumeria into a bigger pot. I don’t know where I got the idea that it needed more room in order to grow, but so far it has worked. And so when I started thinking about the idea that God transplants us in order to continue His good work in us, I thought of my sweet plumeria tree.

You see, I love that tree as much as any possession I have, maybe even more. If I had to leave everything behind and take only one thing, it would likely be my plumeria tree. To me, that tree is proof that I can grow something. Proof that there’s a future. Proof that God loves me.

I know that God loves me a whole lot more than I love some silly tree. I know that He wants me to grow and bloom the same way I want my plumeria to blossom. And if He sees the need to transplant me, whether it be a move halfway across the country or into a different ministry, then I know it’s because I need a new pot so I can continue growing. It’s kind of like the silly little epithet, “Bloom where you’re planted.”