These achara plants didn't look promising at all.
So, this is achara. Indigenous to Eastern Nigeria, it is the star ingredient in the beloved achara soup, often prepared with ukazi and egusi.
Now, if you knew me two or three decades ago, you are
probably wondering, ‘What in the world is she doing growing and eating achara?’
Well…I eat it now. Seriously.
And yes, I crossed seven lands, seven forests, and seven
rivers to get these plants. Okay…perhaps not literally. But it certainly felt
that way.
As I planted them, I caught myself worrying. I hope they
survive. What if this Oklahoma heat is too much? They do not look healthy at
all. What can I do to keep them alive? Then I remembered something: achara is
incredibly resilient.
It does not demand perfect conditions. As long as its roots
are in the ground and it has water, it keeps going. In fact, if you don't prune
it regularly, it can grow so vigorously that it starts taking over your garden.
You can cut it down to the ground, and within days fresh shoots will begin to
emerge, because the roots are still alive.
Right now, mine do not
look impressive. They have been uprooted from the place where they once
flourished, separated from the bunch, transplanted into unfamiliar soil, and
left barely hanging on. But I know something they don’t yet show on the
outside. They’re taking root. Before long, I will probably be pruning them
because they are growing faster than I imagined.
Yet there is another side to the story. As resilient as achara may be, if it is left lying on bare ground with its roots exposed and no steady supply of water, it will eventually die. That thought stopped me.
How often do our lives resemble these freshly transplanted
achara shoots? Broken. Disconnected. Beaten up. Uncertain. Wondering whether we
will ever thrive again.
Those very seasons are often when God is doing His deepest
work, not destroying us, but planting us. Sometimes transplanting us. Rooting
us more deeply in Him. Using painful experiences to produce patience,
perseverance, wisdom, and character. Preparing us for a season we cannot yet
see.
The most important part of a plant is not always what
everyone admires above the ground. It is the root. As long as the roots are
healthy, deeply anchored, and drawing from a life-giving source, the plant has
every reason to hope.
So let me ask you: If life is not looking particularly
beautiful right now, how are your roots? What are they anchored in? Are they
planted beside living water, or barely clinging to shallow soil that dries up
the moment hardship comes? Is your hope rooted in the Giver of every good gift,
or in things that cannot sustain you?
Maybe this is not your season of abundance. Maybe it is
simply your season of daily bread. And that is okay. Seasons change, and the
difficult ones do not last forever. If you are in a difficult season today,
take heart. Stay planted. Stay rooted. Keep watering your soul with God’s Word.
The same God who sustains the root will, in His perfect time, bring forth the
harvest.
An unimpressive season above ground does not mean God is inactive at the roots. Stay planted. Stay rooted.
Garden & Reflections offers a glimpse into the experiences
and everyday lessons that shape me beyond the therapy room. These personal
reflections are shared thoughtfully while honoring the professional boundaries
of the counseling relationship.