“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
Isaiah 43:19
It has been over a year since I’ve written about a plant remedy in this space, and slowly but surely, I feel parts of me thawing enough to make that possible again soon.
Much of what I’ve shared lately has centered on growth, personal development, and the nuggets of wisdom I collected during a season of unemployment that has since transitioned into a season of rebuilding.
What I’m learning is this: when you give God your yes, there is very little you can do to shorten the season He has you in. You can’t rush the lessons. You can’t fast-forward the pruning. You can’t skip over the things He is asking you to learn or unlearn.
What you can do is slow the process down.
I’ve done exactly that.
And much of the delay I’ve experienced has come from one simple mistake:
I didn’t respect the season I was in.
When God Changes the Season
Recently, I watched a conversation between Lisa and John Bevere about this very topic. They spoke about how uncomfortable seasons of pruning can be. How God has a way of bringing us face-to-face with things we ignored in previous seasons. How discouraging it can be when we plant in the wrong season or mistake a season of solitude for a season of loneliness.
I felt that.
Last October, I moved to Fort Worth knowing almost no one beyond my coworkers. At the same time, I accepted a salary that was $20,000 less than what I had earned the previous year.
The transition touched every area of my life. My finances changed. My routines changed. My support system changed. The demands placed on me changed. Big time.
And yet, part of me kept trying to live as though nothing had.
Life Is a Video Game
The older I get, the more I see life as a video game.
You can stay on the same level for as long as you need to. You can circle it endlessly if you want. But the door to the next level won’t open until you’ve collected every gift, lesson, and weapon required for what’s ahead.
You don’t advance simply because you’re tired of being where you are.
You advance when you’re ready.
(And yes, typing this makes me want to check and see if Tomb Raider is still a thing.)
What I’ve realized is that much of the hardship and heartbreak I’ve experienced came from trying to live according to the rules of a previous season.
The spending habits that worked in one season no longer work in another.
The systems I relied on when I was a writer on a small creative team two years ago aren’t sufficient for the responsibilities I carry today, helping manage the optics and reach of a global institute with audiences in 69 countries.
The way I organized my days before becoming a mother certainly doesn’t work now that I have an almost six-year-old under my roof.
I can choose to be frustrated by those realities.
Or I can adapt.
The Garden That Should Have Worked
This summer, my mom and daughter planted a garden.
Summer camps are expensive, and I didn’t happen to have an extra $1,200 a month lying around, so tending the garden became one of their major projects and pastimes.
They planted Swiss chard, peppers, tomatoes, squash, and melons. They cared for those seedlings faithfully. They watered them. Protected them. Fed them.
They did everything they knew to do.
Then Texas heat laughed maniacally, like it does every year.
The kind of heat that makes your eye twitch while checking the forecast.
With the exception of a bowl or two of Swiss chard leaves, almost nothing grew.
We had plenty of green stalks.
We had very little food.
On the surface, the garden appeared to have everything it needed. It was watered consistently. Fertilized appropriately. Shielded from the worst of the sun whenever possible.
So what happened? Was it the wrong season?
Was the heat too intense?
Did the bees have better places to be?
Were all the right ingredients present but unable to come together at the right time?
I don’t know the answer. My mom is definitely too over it to run the experiment again.
But observing that garden taught me something important.
Timing Matters
Sometimes you can have all the ingredients for success and still not see the outcome you expected.
Not because you’re doing the wrong things.
But because timing matters more than we often give it credit for.
There are seasons for planting.
Seasons for pruning.
Seasons for waiting.
Seasons for harvesting.
Wisdom isn’t just knowing what to do.
It’s knowing what season you’re in.
You can respect the season, or you can keep circling the same mountain until you do.
“Do You Not Perceive It?”
The Scripture that repeatedly comes to mind is Isaiah 43:19:
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
Every time I read that verse, I imagine a Father gently trying to get His child’s attention.
Look around.
Pay attention.
Something new is happening.
Yet all the while, the child is busy trying to revive what has already ended. Trying to make old methods work in a new season. Trying to carry old expectations into new territory.
And then wondering why everything feels difficult.
“Do you not perceive it?”
What a question.
How often has God been doing something new while I was busy mourning something old?
Dressing for the Weather
I can wear flip-flops in the winter if I want to.
I can wear a sweater in the middle of a Texas summer if I’m feeling particularly stubborn.
But complaining about the discomfort afterward would make very little sense.
My season has changed.
I’ve simply refused to adjust to it.
I can continue operating according to what made sense last season, or I can adapt to what is required of me right now.
That choice determines a lot more than I once realized.
Preparing for Spring
Respecting the season does not mean becoming passive.
Winter still requires preparation.
Pruning is still work.
Reflection is still work.
Healing is still work.
Letting go is still work.
The invitation is not to sit still and wait for spring. The invitation is to do today’s work while preparing for tomorrow’s growth.
And yes, pruning can be embarrassing.
Being forced to acknowledge where we’ve been resistant, stubborn, fearful, or unwilling to grow is uncomfortable.
Owning the lessons of the current season is hard.
But necessary things usually are.
I can’t make spring arrive early. But I can unintentionally make winter last longer if I’m unwilling to learn what winter came to teach me.
A Gentle Invitation
Do your actions align with what God and this season are asking of you?
Take inventory.
Consider where you’ve been resisting change, clinging to old patterns, or attempting to force growth where God may be asking you to wait.
Do you have what you need to be ready for spring?
If not, perhaps that’s what this season is for.
And that’s okay.
The process of unlearning is still part of the process.
It takes as long as it takes.
Hopefully, my next post will return to something health-related. But for now, this process of unlearning is my personal process, and it takes as long as it takes.
Maybe that’s medicine too.
Until soon.
