So You Think You’re Ready (lessons from my sprouts)

So you’re waiting for the next big thing. The manifestation of that big idea you’ve been planning forever. The promotion, the big move, the pregnancy, the chance meeting that leads to true love.

You’re ready to step out and say, “Yes! This is what I was made for!”

But the waiting is taking longer than expected and possibilities only cause frustration. You feel READY. You wonder if God has overlooked your readiness. You begin reminding Him daily just how ready you are.

I too sit here in my corner chair telling God just how ready I am for our upcoming move and new job. I’m tired of knowing we will move countries/schools/jobs “soon”.

I. Am. Ready!

I would be shouting this from the rooftops, but I planted a tray of seedlings (my little horticulturist spirit at it again) and the tiny sprouts sit there staring at me every morning. They lean toward the sun, reaching as hard as they can as I watch. And all this seedling-watching is doing a strange thing in my heart.

It’s something about the roots. It’s nothing new. But in my journey it’s quite a revelation.

Some days I look at these little sprouts and I’m like, “Wow, look how big you are!!” but most days I’m like, “Ugh, are you ever going to bloom?”

They say to begin with the end in mind. So the “end” I had in mind was a bed of blooming zinnias and forget-me-nots. Blooms in full glory. The visible kind of glory.

What I should have had in mind were root systems able to produce and sustain that full bloom.

A strong, deep, intricate root system that will keep those glorious blooms alive once I transplant them outside.  I hadn’t given the roots a single thought.

And that’s what I do in my own personal growth. I’m distracted by the bloom I want to produce and I take my roots for granted. Forget spiritual awareness and emotional depth. Look at my leaves and petals… aren’t they just fabulous??! And then I get planted in the garden (or the jungle, or whatever), itching with excitement and “readiness”, but quickly I discover that I can’t quite whether the elements. I wasn’t ready.  I’m left clinging to that soil as it washes down the mountain in one giant mudslide, digging in for dear life, barely surviving.

Well now my little soggy washed-up soul has had 9 months to breath and I’m feeling that familiar itch again. Trouble, trouble.

Those little sprouts peek up at me as if to ask, Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?

Can I focus on the roots as I sit in the sunny window, coddled by climate control and plant food? Can I refuse to rush the process that’s giving me depth to weather the elements as they come?

Day after day I watch my sprouts and a few have withered and died. What I really want for my seedlings is strong roots. They need those roots all tangled down deep when they’re out there in my garden.

And that’s part of growing my garden right here, right now. Providing space where I can grow deep for the full journey.

I was reminded how normal this rush-to-the-next-thing is while meeting with a college student last week. A go-getter, he was waiting eagerly for more information on his upcoming study abroad. I could hear discouragement in his diplomatic tone describing the details he doesn’t yet know. I kept thinking that this waiting is only growing him deeper.

This waiting thing. It is not inactive, useless, or unimportant.

It’s intentional and strategic.

It’s growing deep, spiritual roots in my soul.