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Last year, I put out an ask for hostas to fill in a shaded area of our hilly backyard. We received so many responses from neighbors and friends on Facebook and our Nextdoor neighborhood website about many-a-hosta that needed adoption. People offered to split the hostas for us, or dig up full grown ones, even drop them off if needed. Apparently hostas were in abundance and in need of new homes. One response in particular caught my eye. It was from a man named Jim who lived down the street and around the corner from us. He said he and his wife were in desperate need of paring down their garden (it was too much for them to handle), and they had many different species to choose from. I was struck by mention of their desperation and the reference to ”many different species.”
I must have been hosta ignorant. I really thought there were only a couple versions of the plant (at least that’s what we already had). After Jim and I messaged back and forth, I realized that I’d walked our dog by their house on many occasion and had been in awe of the foliage and flowers that took over their big lot—so much so that no blade of grass existed. Apparently, Jim belonged to a special hosta “club” of hosta lovers and experts— and was well known in the hosta community (I didn’t even know one existed). When I looked Jim up online, I found articles written some years back (with photos and all) on his extensive and very rare collection.
When I went over to his house, he gave me a tour, pointing out each species and hybrid. They were lush and in a variety of shades of green and yellow and white—differently veined, patterned, shaped, and sized. Some flowered, others were Jurassic Park sized. I thought I’d stepped back to the age of dinosaurs with the huge backyard border of giant ferns. I received the history of each one that I pointed to, complete with which cross pollinated and which ones he’d named himself. Once I’d picked out some favorites, Jim came to our house and drew up sketches on graph paper, to spec, as to how to fashion a special garden with “waves” of hostas in different sizes to look like a dancing ocean when the wind blew. We transplanted as many as we could on the perimeters and thought we could get more done before the fall chill; but, alas, we had to wait until this month to start bringing more over.
The past two weeks our family has adopted some more beautiful specimens, with unique names like Mouse Ears and one of my favorites (after my mom’s home state): The Montana. By the end of the summer we hope to have the garden finished. Our now good friend, Jim, is suffering from lung disease and was told eight years ago that he wouldn’t survive more than a year. He’s living on borrowed time. He hauls his oxygen tank everywhere with him, and struggles to get up and down our hill. But we can tell by the smile on his face that this project is bringing him joy. I am grateful for his amazing strength and God’s sustenance that have allowed him to still be here. We are also grateful for his kindness, and his expertise, and for gifting us with a truly amazing bounty of God’s creation.
A couple days ago, Jim revealed to me that this will be his “legacy” garden and he hopes to live long enough to watch it take hold and flourish. I placed a bench in the middle of the transforming space that will over look our ocean of leaves, and I hope to get a photo of him sitting on it looking at his “legacy”. It would be such a blessing; I’ve even thought of how to hang a sign on our big oak: Jim’s Legacy Garden.
Our recent conversation reminded me of a song I choreographed to years ago, one by Nicole Nordeman called: “Legacy”. Its lyrics are so poignant and you cannot listen to the song without thinking about what kind of legacy you are leaving for the world, by your actions and gifts. And you hope that your personal legacy brings honor to God.
The chorus of the song says:
I want to leave a legacy,
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to you enough?
To make a mark on things
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy.
What kind of legacy are you leaving in this world and is it the one you’d like to leave? Is it a beautiful garden, like Jim is leaving, that honors God’s glorious creation? Is it the work you do to serve others? Is it in song? Is it in prayer? Is it in dance? Is it in sermons or testimonies? Is it like me in writing essays about my life and how God is speaking through me? Is it how you love others and care for them? Is it in how you teach about Jesus in what you say and/or how you lead by example? Do others see God in you? Do you point to God enough, leave an offering of yourself in this world for Him?
After Jim and I talked at length about his legacy garden, he then spoke of how he went to MIT and helped invent many things over the years after graduating. He was a scientist. But he said the thing he wanted to be remembered for (and it wasn’t his prolific gardens, or inventing something that was used by oceanographers). It was being a school counselor; the advice and guidance he gave saved the lives of many young people. And, this is what he is most proud of, what he gave to others: his compassion, kindness, and care.
So today, take some time and think about, and pray over, what your legacy is going to be when you finally travel to God’s side to be with Jesus. And ask yourself if you will leave the offering you really want to leave. What is your legacy going to be….? Amen.
Link to Nicole Nordeman’s song: Legacy
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