There’s a tree behind my grandmother’s house—tall, old, and crooked. I used to think it looked tired, like life had blown through it too many times and almost bent it to the ground. But it still stands. Every spring, new leaves come. Every fall, it drops them in a golden goodbye. That tree knows how to grow.
My grandmother once told me that spiritual growth often looks like that tree. It’s slower than we want, but stronger than we realize. “Growth,” she said, “isn’t always about more… sometimes it’s about deeper.”
Maybe you’ve felt a hunger for more of God but found yourself asking the quiet question—how do I actually grow?
2 Peter 3:18 tells us, “But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Not perform. Not earn. Just grow. Grace first, knowledge second. Like roots and branches.
But what does that look like on a Monday morning, when your Bible feels heavy and your heart feels hollow?
Paul offers a picture in Colossians 2:6–7: “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith… overflowing with thankfulness.” Notice the starting place: the same grace that saved you is the grace that sustains you.
That’s a quiet truth that shocked me.
I used to think growth required grit—the white-knuckled kind of effort, the do-better-try-harder religion that leaves you exhausted by dinnertime. But Paul says we grow the same way we began: by receiving Jesus. Receiving. Not performing.
Think of it like this: a plant doesn’t grow because it tries. It grows because it abides—because it’s placed where light reaches it, because its roots breathe water from the soil. Jesus said it too: “Abide in me.” Not race. Not push. Just stay.
And staying doesn’t mean standing still.
Romans 12:2 shifts us further along the path: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Transformation here isn’t self-generated—it’s gifted as our thinking changes. And that change? It comes through God’s Word.
When I finally began reading Scripture not as a checklist, but as water for my thirsty mind—something shifted. I stopped asking, “Did I get enough today?” and started asking, “What did I see about God today?” Little truths, grounded deep, began to bloom slowly in my heart.
Like the time I read Jesus calming the storm and thought, “He speaks peace in mid-tempest, not after it fades.” That anchored me during a week of family sickness and financial fear. It wasn’t a breakthrough—just a branch growing.
Maybe spiritual growth is less staircase and more garden. It happens in seasons. Some loud with fruit. Some silent with waiting. All holy.
Sometimes growth shows up when you choose silence over scrolling. When you open your Bible even when your coffee is cold. When you forgive someone you’d rather resent. You’re not always aware it's happening—but like that tree behind Grandmother’s house, the roots are reaching down, and something sturdy is taking form.
Maybe you feel far behind. Maybe you wish you could skip the slow and step into fast-forward faith. Hear this: your Savior is not rushing you.
He’s not holding a clipboard, tapping his foot in disappointment. He’s the Gardener, gently pruning, patiently watering, delighting in every inch of green. He doesn’t need your perfection—He just wants your permission to keep growing you, every day, one grace-soaked inch at a time.
So breathe. Stay close. Receive.
Because that’s how transformation works—quietly, deeply, faithfully. Through roots and rivers. Through truth and trust.
Growth may be slow. But it’s not silent. Listen close—you might hear the soul-leaves rustling.
He has not stopped working on you.
And He never will.
There’s a tree behind my grandmother’s house—tall, old, and crooked. I used to think it looked tired, like life had blown through it too many times and almost bent it to the ground. But it still stands. Every spring, new leaves come. Every fall, it drops them in a golden goodbye. That tree knows how to grow.
My grandmother once told me that spiritual growth often looks like that tree. It’s slower than we want, but stronger than we realize. “Growth,” she said, “isn’t always about more… sometimes it’s about deeper.”
Maybe you’ve felt a hunger for more of God but found yourself asking the quiet question—how do I actually grow?
2 Peter 3:18 tells us, “But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Not perform. Not earn. Just grow. Grace first, knowledge second. Like roots and branches.
But what does that look like on a Monday morning, when your Bible feels heavy and your heart feels hollow?
Paul offers a picture in Colossians 2:6–7: “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith… overflowing with thankfulness.” Notice the starting place: the same grace that saved you is the grace that sustains you.
That’s a quiet truth that shocked me.
I used to think growth required grit—the white-knuckled kind of effort, the do-better-try-harder religion that leaves you exhausted by dinnertime. But Paul says we grow the same way we began: by receiving Jesus. Receiving. Not performing.
Think of it like this: a plant doesn’t grow because it tries. It grows because it abides—because it’s placed where light reaches it, because its roots breathe water from the soil. Jesus said it too: “Abide in me.” Not race. Not push. Just stay.
And staying doesn’t mean standing still.
Romans 12:2 shifts us further along the path: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Transformation here isn’t self-generated—it’s gifted as our thinking changes. And that change? It comes through God’s Word.
When I finally began reading Scripture not as a checklist, but as water for my thirsty mind—something shifted. I stopped asking, “Did I get enough today?” and started asking, “What did I see about God today?” Little truths, grounded deep, began to bloom slowly in my heart.
Like the time I read Jesus calming the storm and thought, “He speaks peace in mid-tempest, not after it fades.” That anchored me during a week of family sickness and financial fear. It wasn’t a breakthrough—just a branch growing.
Maybe spiritual growth is less staircase and more garden. It happens in seasons. Some loud with fruit. Some silent with waiting. All holy.
Sometimes growth shows up when you choose silence over scrolling. When you open your Bible even when your coffee is cold. When you forgive someone you’d rather resent. You’re not always aware it's happening—but like that tree behind Grandmother’s house, the roots are reaching down, and something sturdy is taking form.
Maybe you feel far behind. Maybe you wish you could skip the slow and step into fast-forward faith. Hear this: your Savior is not rushing you.
He’s not holding a clipboard, tapping his foot in disappointment. He’s the Gardener, gently pruning, patiently watering, delighting in every inch of green. He doesn’t need your perfection—He just wants your permission to keep growing you, every day, one grace-soaked inch at a time.
So breathe. Stay close. Receive.
Because that’s how transformation works—quietly, deeply, faithfully. Through roots and rivers. Through truth and trust.
Growth may be slow. But it’s not silent. Listen close—you might hear the soul-leaves rustling.
He has not stopped working on you.
And He never will.
