Allo-Aloe!

Many years ago, I was gifted an aloe plant. Aloe is the type of plant that I do well with they do well with a little neglect. Some light, some water, and a lot of being left alone – and suddenly I found myself with an aloe-saurus. You know the type; spikes suddenly everywhere as the greenery tries to climb out of its pot, inserting itself into conversations in the room… Hello aloe!

Aloe is one of those plants that also divides well; a little coaxing and some dirt and voilà; mini plants to give away on the local WeShare group. Which means my aloe is now a reasonable size (likely still too big, but I can do another cull in the future).

Aloe is such a versatile plant. Its gel helps to heal wounds and burns, its juice can help digestion, it has antibiotic qualities, it helps improve air quality – all in all, it’s a wonder plant. And it thrives on neglect. Great!

The thing about aloe: in order to receive all these amazing benefits, it needs to be broken. For new life to grow, the plant needs to be divided; otherwise it becomes stagnant – and without room for roots to grow and seek nourishment, it dies. To access the gel inside, leaves must be broken or cut.

In order to maintain growth and life, a little death needs to occur. Obviously, too much destruction is too much; but the places for cutting or culling can be intentional, and with some time and tending, the brokenness can become a point of strength.

It’s a fitting analogy for life, when things seem to be in a time of heightened challenge: we can forget that well-being isn’t always comfortable. We can lose sight of the verdancy and promise of new growth and new joys if we are limited in focus to the cutting or culling. We can miss out on the healing properties that lie just below the surface if we are too afraid of a cut to seek out the balm that is assured. We can prevent new growth in different areas if we are too afraid to foster new growth; we can forget that a tiny plant next to an aloe-saurus is on its own a full aloe plant, waiting to grow into its full potential.

I’m comforted by my aloe plant; as it is shared, as it is used, as it will continue to be generally neglected in the window by the prayer-chair… for it reminds me of the comfort of hope and the promise of life.