I bought these adorable, low maintenance succulents that look so uniform they appear artificial. As they took their place on the porch table, I loved their unspoken promise to be easy, lovely, and perfect.
But now they’ve grown.
On one, the bottom sticks out flat and wide, while the top sprouts tall and skinny—making its upper half disproportionately skimpy compared with its base. The other succulent spreads wider on one side than the other, and I imagine if it tried to walk, it would fall over from its cartoonish imbalance.
As they grow, they aren’t symmetrical. They aren’t uniform. They definitely aren’t perfect.
And honestly? I kind of don’t like them anymore.
As I confess my fickle love for these succulents, I see how I am still allured and beckoned by the perfect, and in turn, disappointed by the reality of imperfection. My waning appreciation for their awkward teenage stage isn’t entirely unlike the disappointment I often feel about my own growth: still scrawny in some areas and overgrown in others. And I am equally hard on myself as I succumb to striving for perfection—again.
But these unassuming succulents remind me to lay aside expectations, and instead, simply grow. Because true, unapologetic growth is braver than settling for the appearance of perfect. These succulents are following the more courageous path.
So I move these two potted beauties to the ledge above my kitchen sink, where I can more closely admire their courage to reach their roots deeper, send their shoots higher, focusing only on growing into exactly what they’re supposed to be.
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago” (Ephesians 2:10, NLT).
