In my little corner of the world, it’s growing season.
The storms are still coming, the weeds are threatening to take over. And those insidious critters have me wondering if a harvest is even possible at this point.
Let me be clear about the metaphor: this is me. This is the season I’m in. I’ve decided to call it my growing season because frankly, that’s what I’ve determined it to be.
We all have our stories. My story is simply that—it’s mine. It’s no more worthy of care or concern than the next person’s. It’s just the only one I’m living.
Maybe your story holds heartache, too, but with its own unique circumstances.
Maybe your future isn’t looking anything like you had hoped.
Perhaps your life feels as though it’s on hold because the justice system seems anything but just.
It may be that your lifelong bestie no longer shares the same zip code.
Perhaps there are health concerns that you can no longer ignore.
It may be that loss, of one kind or another, has left you feeling empty.
Our stories matter.
But regardless of what they hold—whether they are marked by heartache or hallelujahs—there is something we often miss:
Every story comes with an opportunity.
Even the stories that bring us to our knees.
While we long for that perfect, eternal garden, we still live in a world that’s not. While we long for people to make good choices, God does not override our free will. So that leaves us living in an imperfect world, with imperfect people.
I’m convinced that God teaches us much through our stories. Lessons that can only be learned in a particular season, through a particular set of circumstances.
Sometimes these lessons require us to look for God in new and unexpected places. We want to see God in the changing of our circumstances, and so it makes sense that’s where we look.
Our growth is not always found in the circumstances changing, but in the refinement of who we are because of them.
It’s not pretty.
It’s not pleasant.
But it is possible.
Your growing season might just be the best thing that comes from what you’re going through.
For me, these seasons can also be the most difficult times to pray.
The irony.
The unfolding of your story can take up so much space in your head that you don’t have much mental capacity left to beseech God. I’m so thankful to know that the Spirit intercedes for us. And in these moments, I find myself asking God:
Grow me.
Chisel away the hard pieces in my heart.
Teach me, even in the middle of my pain, what it looks like to love others the way You love me.
Expand my ability to forgive so that I am more aligned with You.
Dissolve every ounce of pride left in me.
Increase my dependence on You.
Show me how to fully embrace this life and live it in a way that honors You, despite the weight that remains.
Grow me.
With that prayer, I’ve had to do a heart-check: Is “grow me” selfish? Is it an inward focused plea? Is it self-serving? If that were my only prayer, perhaps it would be. But it isn’t. I still ask God to work in the circumstances. I still plead for a different outcome. I still beg for things to change. But ultimately I’m learning that “grow me” is not a selfish prayer.
It is a prayer of surrender.
It is a choice to place in God’s hands, the things that are out of mine. It is a decision, made with great intention, to stand on His promises, even when I cannot see how the story will unfold.
“Grow me” is an acknowledgment that the only good that may come from a difficult season may be the growth God produces in me. The circumstances around me may not change, but by God’s grace and power, may He use these circumstances to change me, grow me.
Sometimes that simple prayer is quiet. In the middle of the night when sleep doesn’t come, it’s a soft whisper between the tears: Grow me.
Sometimes that simple prayer is declared with deep conviction. It becomes a reminder that growth is a choice. And right now, in this season, I’m choosing to partner with You, God: Grow me!
Sometimes that simple prayer is said in utter defiance. A bold declaration to the Enemy himself. Though he prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking his prey, I will not let him have me. He will not win. And so, I cry out to my God: Grow me!!!
In my little corner of the world it’s growing season.
I want to say that I’m embracing the growth. I want to say that I’ve fully surrendered.
But more accurately, I should say that I’m trying.
And along with trying, I’m trusting.
Trusting in a God who can take this growing season– storms, weeds, critters, and all—and somehow turn it into a beautiful harvest.
