I want to talk about growth. More specifically, the process of growing into the person I want to be. It’s hard — it rarely comes with ease and almost always comes with struggle and tension. But it’s also what I desire most deep down, because it’s the most natural and rewarding part of being human.
And I want to share some personal reflections through a story I’ll call…
The Growing Tree.
And it starts here as I swing without a single worry or responsibility.
Until… a bag of seeds drops on my lap. Now, there is a worry and a responsibility. What did I know about growing anything? Absolutely nothing.
So I say…
but it’s not taken back.
So I take a closer look at the many shapes and colors that now rest in my hands. They can stay this way, quiet and undisturbed. But I wonder what they can grow to be if I just took the first step. I ask myself what seed in particular I feel drawn to sow in this very moment.
Because growing is first: examining.
It requires an honest assessment of my life and character, to see where there is room to grow. And there always is room to grow. I just have to be brave enough to face my weaknesses and be as specific as possible when asking myself: “What kind of person do I want to be?” or “What do I need more of in this season of my life?”
There is one seed in particular that catches my eye and tugs at my heart.
so I tuck it in a blanket of soil,
water it,
wait,
and wait some more.
I face the reality that
Growing is mainly watering and waiting.
It’s the daily effort and investment, the little decisions made in the moment.
It can look like holding the tongue in that split second of fury, or putting on your running shoes despite the initial dread, or picking up the book over the phone, or telling someone why you appreciate them, even though you’d rather keep it to yourself to avoid the awkwardness.
Even these small actions are difficult to do and even when they are done, the big change I want is not seen right away and I start to doubt whether I am really growing.
There’s more to what I don’t see, like how every drop of water is pulled in by the roots as they expand, deep and wide. Watering and waiting is not in vain, but work in progress. It takes a lot of trust to believe that, but I take the leap of faith and continue to invest.
And it grows
and grows
and grows.
Until… I under-water
and over-water
and decide to take a short break that becomes a really long one
and I return to a sad, withered plant.
Of course, in anything I do, I want to get it right and perfect the first time or at least the first few times. I want to be perfectly patient and perfectly loving and perfectly disciplined and perfectly peaceful and fearless. I want all these things with speed and ease. But I am human, and at the core I am imperfect. Which means a lot of mess ups and falling short and losing motivation. I say with a discouraged sigh, “Why is this so hard?” “I’ll never get this right.”
I’m relieved to know
Growing means a lot of grace in my many failures.
It’s something I have a particularly hard time understanding and accepting. Because I hate making mistakes, and letting myself and others down. All my hopes for a flourishing tree is lost when the plant dies in my careless hands and it feels like the end of story. Except it’s not. The seed is resilient and can continue to grow through setbacks and shortcomings and ups and downs, so long as I learn from them and find the courage to persevere. Where the process of growth has once started, it will continue on. In growth, there is room to fall and get back up and pick up where I left off. There is grace for me that kindly and gently urges me to try again. And so I do.
And it grows
and grows
and I start to admire my hands that made this tree.
Until… a storm creeps in, lightning strikes, and my tree lights on fire. Ah, an unforeseen, undesired, and uncontrollable situation which shakes up my core and tests my character.
I had been growing exponentially and prided myself over it, but now I am up against the impossible task of trying to save what’s left. The progress that I had made so far seems to come to nothing as it burns in the fire.
Help comes, the sun shines, and the rain pours.
Growing is being humbled and helped.
Humbled, because it is through testing circumstances that I realize my powerlessness. There are many things I don’t have control over and never had control over. At first, this is alarming. But in the glaring reality of my smallness, I find peace. Because I learn to let go when I need to. I learn to acknowledge that I need help and to seek help. I learn to rely on help, instead of my two little hands.
Looking back, I also see what I had not seen before — all the help that I had been receiving all along. And looking forward, I walk with gratitude for the sun and water and fair weather and even the occasional storm and I am glad that I am not alone in my growing.
And the tree grows and grows.
Until… I take a walk through the forest,
across the garden,
along the farm,
and think maybe my tree actually isn’t growing much. I look at the way others grow, perhaps faster or with more elegance or fruitfulness and find my own growth lacking or lagging in some way.
I accept that
Growing is different for everyone.
Each tree has grown from a unique seed, endured different trials, serves a specific purpose, and grows in its own time and in its own way. What is seen in the surface is only a tiny glimpse of all the unseen complexities, underlying processes, and stories.
So I give up trying to compare what I don’t fully understand (growth is a bit of a mystery, after all), and I swing, content, on the tree that is my own.
And I continue to plant, seed after seed.
and the trees grow.
Will I ever stop watering and waiting and failing and trying again and being humbled and receiving help and grace?
Absolutely not.
Because growing is for a lifetime.
The End 🌳
