How often do you think about growth? The burning fire within to change for the better, to leave some old things behind, to build from the ground and start anew? It’s difficult, isn’t it? So difficult that staying unchanged feels safe. But it’s not. It’s dangerous — especially when you’re convinced that you’ve achieved the ultimate “doneness” of character.
I was there. I was right at the point where I felt that I was about to sprout. It felt liberating, as I finally thought I was growing upwards like that Beanstalk on Super Mario Bros.

For a year or so, I was convinced that that was it. I had achieved my final form in my late twenties, and I’d be in hibernation mode for the next decade or so, until the next identity crisis arrived. But that’s the thing with identity — if it’s rooted in this world’s promises, careers, personal achievements, and relationships — it’s not constant. It changes; it ebbs and flows and hits the ground. And one day, when something big hits you and pushes you onto the floor on your knees and you realize you can’t get up that easily, you will eventually understand that growth comes only after refinement — that you must walk through the very same burning fire within that first pushed you to change.

More often than you think, that burning fire within is God Himself nudging you because He has great plans for you — but first you must get rid of what doesn’t work so He can give you what your soul has been craving throughout the years. It sounds scary, I know. But take heart — He’s got you, even in the moments that feel uncertain.

That truth became clearer to me in the most ordinary way — through a simple metaphor I stumbled upon while observing a Kentia palm in my home.

No matter the circumstances — and those circumstances include my cats eating its leaves, me forgetting to unroll the shades, and me taking “just a bit” of soil from its pot to plant a few raspberry seeds — it grew. It didn’t just grow taller; it became more lavish, greener, more upright — so rich that I began imagining it planted in the garden of our future home.

There’s not a day I don’t look at its branches. The more mature ones are darker; some are a little dusty; others have bitten ends with shades of beige that I refuse to trim. And then there are the new ones, whose lime and young-bamboo green shades give me a long-lasting sense of calmness and joy.

One of my favorite morning views — while enjoying my first cup of coffee — is one of our three cats lying on the lean sofa, almost beneath the palm. It’s a tiny, peaceful jungle where sunrays break through the left window shades and make life feel lighter. Recently, we opened the sofa and made a giant ottoman out of it; I’m grateful for it, as I can now sit under the tree and accompany my cats in their early-morning do-nothings and afternoon siestas.

Just behind the palm’s leaves peeks another fully grown tree: this one is a fine line work, and although an art piece, it has the Creator Himself at the bottom — intimately nurturing a new, young sprout under the shadow of the already grown tree.

I’ve felt the same in the past few months many times; the Lord is holding me in the palm of His hand, and without even noticing, through all the germinating, sprouting, and growing new branches, I’ve grown into a mature tree. Some days, I’m a palm tree: standing upright, embraced in the sun’s rays and rejoicing in my greenery.

Other days, I’m an olive tree: sleeping in the Mediterranean December shade and waiting for my silvery-gray leaves to turn green again. In this silence and in-between seasons, I know I’m going through all the phases of growth. I am waiting; I am letting God the Creator nurture the soil, teach me patience, show me the days of my new youth, give me time, and let me spread my new branches so I can feed others with my fruit.

More times than I’ve realized, that seed hasn’t always been me — and I’ve often tried to grow it myself — yet I have to let God decide what He will do with it.

If you find yourself being that seed, I can testify without a doubt: no matter how heavy patience feels, no matter how slow growth seems, it is worth being hidden in the palm of His hand.

And when it comes to the people you love, remember this: you cannot force their growth. The best you can do is place them in God’s hands. And if you still feel the urge to grow something — go and plant a seed.

“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;”
Isaiah 49:16

Song of the day: Higher – Creed