How a HIBISCUS Is Teaching Me about RESILIENCE

PLEASE PIN THIS IMAGE: How a hibiscus plant is teaching me resilience.

Last spring, I planted a hibiscus into our new front yard garden. I was skeptical that it would survive the first year without succumbing to a disease, as so many plants do in our area. To my pleasant surprise, it not only survived, but also sprang up three times larger this spring.

By the number of branches and its height, it promised to become a beautiful display of large, red blooms, a joy to behold out of the window on a day too hot and humid to enjoy being outside.

Then the spring thunderstorms began.

They were practically non-existent last year, a record-breaking year for warmth and drought. On the rare occasions a storm blew through, it was like a young kitten dancing across our property, playful and harmless.

In other words, I gained no experience in how a severe thunderstorm might affect a large hibiscus.

This year, I did.

As the hibiscus came out of dormancy, five branches pushed out of the ground, encircling the stump that remained from when I pruned it down last fall. The branches grew, two feet, three feet, and taller. Large, purplish leaves cloaked the branches like a gauzy royal robe. Finally, tiny buds which would eventually turn into the showy blossoms for which the hibiscus is famous began to pop up in between the leaves.

And then, the storms began, storms which are largely unknown to the native tropical land of the flower. They brought nearly hurricane-force winds, bending the tops of tall trees almost ninety degrees and snapping off old twigs and branches.

And – you guessed it – snapping off the branches of the hibiscus.

When I lost the first branch, I was a bit dismayed, but convinced myself it was a fluke. The branch must have just been weak, especially since it snapped off at the base of the plant. The rest of the plant was bound to be okay.

Another storm came. More strong winds. A second branch came down.

I groaned. Ground my teeth. Did I have to stake the thing? I’ve never read about a hibiscus bush needing to be staked. Besides, what were the chances we’d have another storm with winds that strong?

High, as it turned out. Not too many days later, a third branch snapped off. I wanted to pull my hair out. I began to think that staking it wasn’t a bad idea. But, come on, how many more storms this spring were we going to have with wind that strong?

At least two more, as it turned out.

When the next one came, the wind started up before the rain. I asked my son if he would go out and place the buckets of gray water, which were always lined up just outside the house, around the hibiscus to help hold up its remaining two branches. No sooner had I asked, than rain began falling in thick sheets.

“Never mind,” I told my son. “Too late.”

I mean, what kind of mother would I be, asking my son to go out in weather like that?

I didn’t want to ask my husband, either, because he’d already done so much for me during the past couple of months, on account of my injuries. Maybe these last two branches would be strong enough to withstand the storm?

Well, one of them was. The other?

Yep. Of course.

It went the way of its three siblings.

Or so I thought.

Raising the stakes.

After losing the second to last branch, I almost gave up. What remained of the plant was bound to end up looking pathetic. And it was a perennial. We could just let the next storm take down the last branch and wait until next year, at which time I’d already planned we would wrap chicken wire around it. On the other hand (SIGH), I already felt like a bad Hibiscus Mommy. I needed to make up for my previous neglect. So I asked my husband to stake it.

He did.

Another gusty storm blew in.

The single branch stood strong.

Resilience isn’t about being able to pull yourself up from your bootstraps after being knocked down. It’s not about proving to the world that you can thrive all by yourself.

It’s about reaching out and grabbing hold of support when the storms of life are raging. Because the strongest person is the one who’s not afraid to admit they need help, not afraid to risk trusting others to give it to them.

But wait! There’s more.

Just when I thought I’d learned a life lesson that I could share on this blog, something amazing happened. Something that I didn’t think out of the realm of possibility, but for this situation, had fallen far out of the realm of probability.

The last branch that fell began to sprout leaves.

No kidding. Here’s a photo of what it looks like now, a couple of weeks after I saw the first tiny leaf sprouts:

Apparently, this branch hadn’t been fully disconnected from the root. It was getting enough nutrients to support new growth.

It had been “struck down, but not destroyed [2 Corinthians 4:9].”

Ever been there? I have. More than once. I was hurting, devastated, in despair. I was on the ground, face down, unable to see any light, vulnerable, afraid.

But I kept a thin tendril of faith wrapped around the Vine. I maintained connection with the Source of everything I needed not only to keep on living, but to recover, and eventually, to thrive.

This is another side to true resilience, the refusal to give up, despite all odds. It’s the kind of refusal that says, “God, I can’t see You, and Your presence seems a million miles away, but I’ve got this one tiny thread of faith left that tells me that I’m still attached, still connected, so I’m going to persevere until I feel Your hand grabbing mine, pulling me up from off the dirt.”

You might be going through something really hard right now, and thinking, “That’s not me. I can’t be like that. I know I’m doomed.”

The truth of that matter is that the very fact that you’re reading this means you ARE like that, and that you are NOT doomed.

If you are reading this, you have not given up. You still have faith.

You are resilient.

You will pull through.

Reach out and ask others to support you.

Hold onto what little faith you have with all of your might.

My hibiscus is proof that making the effort to do those two things will lead you back to life.

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My single-branched hibiscus as of 7-2-25. Note that in the very front, it is also growing a brand-new branch.