On Growing Slowly

I want to be a person who grows in large, visible increments. Who can point to a date and say: before this, I was that. After this, I became this. I want formation to be legible, charted, satisfying in its measurability.

But the truth is that most growth happens the way grass grows — imperceptibly, daily, in such small increments that you cannot watch it and would not see anything if you tried. The change only becomes visible in retrospect: the lawn that was brown in March is lush in June, though no single day of growth was observable.

This is humbling for those of us who want evidence of our progress. We pray, we read, we sit in worship, we practice forgiveness, we show up in community — and it can feel like nothing is happening. And then someone says something that surprises you: you've changed. Or you encounter a situation that used to undo you and notice, with mild astonishment, that it doesn't anymore.

Formation is mostly invisible. The roots go down before the fruit appears. The work God is doing in the hidden places — in the daily disciplines, the small choices, the long faithfulness — is real even when it is not legible.

Grow slowly. Trust the process. The grass doesn't panic about its rate of growth.