I grew up in Chicago in a neighborhood where the houses were like little boxes made of brick sitting in neat rows along the city streets. Even though we had a small backyard, my mama always made space for a garden.
Every spring we would head down to the local nursery and pick out packets of seeds and plants. We dreamed of making Italian pesto and marinara sauce with our herbs and tomatoes. We salivated over eggplant parmigiana or moist zucchini bread we could create. Of course, we had work to do before we would ever taste the fruit of our labor.
Mama would hand my brother and me little shovels and spading forks. Our first assignment was to break up the hard soil to get it ready for planting. This was the cultivating process, where we also had to uproot any pesky weeds.
We mixed in the dark, rich top soil with the gray, ashy dirt that had endured Chicago’s winter. They say it’s best to prepare the soil a week in advance so we had to be patient in the process. Our soil needed extra nutrients before we could transplant the seedlings from the nursery.
Finally, we would gather around as Mama dug little holes evenly-spaced in the garden boxes. Then she removed the plants from the containers and gently loosened the roots. She slipped the seedlings into the holes and we would gently pat the dirt around them. Mama always had us soak the soil right after the seedlings were planted. They needed lots of water to nourish them as they got settled in their new home.
A few months ago, God transplanted our family. We moved into a new house. My three daughters transferred to a new school. My husband’s company restructured, which meant he had to move to a new office. We also decided, after much prayer and processing heavy things, that it was time to find a new church.
These are beastly transitions. Whenever you shift your daily rhythm, relocate or transfer to a new position, it takes time to recalibrate. It takes time to get fully rooted and ready for new growth.
As I survey my life, God has transplanted me several times. He transplanted me when I went off to college three hours away from my family. He transplanted me after college from Michigan to California to start a new job as a newspaper reporter. He transplanted our young family when my husband and I started a non-profit in Haiti. And now we are being transplanted again.
Through these experiences, I have learned several lessons:
First, I have to dig in to do the work of cultivating the soil. Before I could move to these new places and spaces, I had to be willing to shake things up, to dig through the memories, to sort through what we would be leaving behind and grieve. I had to say goodbye to people and mark what God taught me in that season. Cultivating is the hard part, but it yields such growth.
Secondly, when we’re being transplanted to a new garden, we have to nourish ourselves well with the truth. Mama taught us to add nutrient-rich soil and plenty of water to help our seedlings grow at the start. In the same way, our souls need nourishment. We need more time in God’s Word, more time in prayer, more time to connect with the Master Gardener as we navigate transition.
When people or settings are new, our souls go through a kind of shock like a seedling does in new soil. Insecurity, resentment, and doubt can creep in. We may find ourselves longing for the old garden because it was familiar and comfortable. This is when we need to press in to the truth that we are known and loved by God no matter where we go. He is working underground and has our best interest in mind.
Once we have been transplanted, we also need to give ourselves time to listen and observe how things work in the new garden. It’s tempting to rush into familiar rhythms, but we might miss something new God wants to bloom in a new place. For example, I’ve led women’s Bible studies for years. I was tempted in our new church to sign up for Bible study right away and inquire about leadership, but I felt God encouraging me to hold back. He’s invited me into a sweet season of rest and personal Bible study that I believe has been important to strengthening my roots in this new season. This also has afforded me more time to be present with my daughters in this transition.
Maybe some of you have been transplanted recently. Maybe you’ve moved to a new city, a new job, a new church. Maybe you’ve just graduated from college or now you have an empty nest. Maybe you’ve just sent your baby off to kindergarten or have found yourself back in school. As you are transplanted to this new place or new situation, remember to keep your eyes on the Master Gardener. He is faithful to go before us to cultivate the soil and help us root ourselves if we cling to Him.
It’s not the one who plants or the one who waters who is at the center
of this process but God, who makes things grow.
1 Corinthians 3:7 (MSG)