The Things That Grow When No One Is Watching
There is something strangely beautiful about a garden.
Not because it is always colorful.
Not because everything blooms at once.
But because so much of its work happens where no one can see it.
The seed disappears beneath the soil.
Roots stretch through darkness.
Tiny shoots push upward while the world goes about its business.
No applause.
No audience.
Just quiet growth.
This week's Gospel reminded me that Jesus understood gardens better than most of us ever will.
He compared the kingdom of God to a mustard seed—small enough to lose in the palm of your hand. He spoke of yeast disappearing into dough, quietly changing everything from the inside out. Hidden treasure. Pearls. Fishing nets.
None of it looked extraordinary.
Until it was.
I've been spending a lot of time in my own garden this summer. There are mornings when I walk outside expecting dramatic change, only to wonder if anything has happened at all.
The zucchini still looks... like zucchini.
The peppers are taking their sweet time.
The herbs seem to have a mind of their own.
Then, a few days later, I notice something I almost missed.
A jalapeño that wasn't there yesterday.
A sunflower suddenly taller than my shoulder.
A butterfly resting on the echinacea.
Growth was happening all along.
I just couldn't see it.
Faith often works the same way.
We pray for patience, yet we still feel impatient.
We ask God to heal our hearts, but the grief lingers.
We try to become kinder, more generous, more forgiving, and wonder if we're making any progress at all.
Then one day we respond with grace instead of anger.
We notice hope where despair used to live.
We discover we're carrying a burden that no longer feels quite so heavy.
God has been growing something beneath the surface.
The world celebrates what is loud.
God delights in what is faithful.
A handwritten note.
A meal shared with a neighbor.
A child learning to pray.
A volunteer stacking chairs after everyone else has gone home.
A garden planted simply because beauty feeds the soul.
These moments rarely make headlines.
But I wonder if heaven keeps a different scorecard.
Maybe the kingdom isn't built through grand performances.
Maybe it grows through ordinary people choosing love again and again.
Every seed planted.
Every kind word spoken.
Every prayer whispered.
Every loaf shared.
Every act of mercy.
None of it is wasted.
If you've been feeling discouraged lately because you can't see much happening in your life, take a lesson from the garden.
Roots grow before flowers bloom.
The deepest work often happens in hidden places.
God has never been in a hurry.
He is patient enough to wait for forests to grow from seeds.
Patient enough to bring resurrection from a borrowed tomb.
Patient enough to keep working in each of us.
So this week, pay attention to the small things.
The first tomato turning red.
The bee gathering pollen.
The laughter around your dinner table.
The stranger who held the door.
The friend who texted at just the right moment.
These are not interruptions to God's work.
They are often God's work.
Wild grace rarely arrives with fireworks.
More often, it sprouts quietly from the soil, stretches toward the light, and reminds us that the Kingdom of God has been growing all along—even when we couldn't see it.
May you notice the small miracles this week.
Grace and peace,
Erin
