Author’s Note:
I’ve been sitting with the idea of the underground season — the part of growth we don’t see yet.
If life feels quiet, slow, or unresolved right now, this letter is for you.
Not everything that matters grows in the spotlight. Some things are taking root.
There are places that remind your body how to breathe.
For me, it’s the dance studio.
The music.
The laughter.
The movement.
The way my shoulders drop the moment I walk in.
This week, after being away, I felt it instantly — not just joy, but relief.
My body remembered something my mind already knew: this is a place where I come alive.
And it reminded me of something else I’ve been holding quietly in my heart.
Some of the most important things in life don’t grow louder with pressure.
They grow steadier with time.
I’ve been thinking a lot about seeds lately — the kind you plant and the kind you never see break the surface right away.
In my Bible study, I was struck by a detail I’d never really let sink in before.
Jesus’ own brother, James, didn’t believe in Him during His ministry.
Gospel of John says it plainly:
“Even His own brothers did not believe in Him.”
And yet — after the resurrection — Jesus appeared to James personally.
That moment changed everything.
James went from skeptic to pillar.
From doubt to devotion.
From observer to leader.
And I can’t help but think how much hope there is in that.
For anyone loving a child who questions.
For anyone walking alongside someone who isn’t sure what they believe.
For anyone tempted to push, argue, convince, or panic.
What if belief doesn’t need force?
What if seeds don’t need pressure to grow — just time?
As a parent, this matters deeply to me.
I see how sensitive hearts absorb the weight of the world.
I see how pain, injustice, and suffering can make faith feel complicated.
And I’m learning that my role isn’t to demand certainty —
it’s to remain present.
To love without panic.
To trust what’s already been planted.
To believe that God is not limited by the timing I prefer.
The same is true in marriage.
And healing.
And becoming.
Some seasons are loud and active.
Others are quiet and underground.
But just because something isn’t visible doesn’t mean it isn’t alive.
Acts tells us,
“But the word of God continued to spread and flourish.”
Not because people controlled it —
but because God tended it.
I’m learning to do the same.
To show up where I’m called.
To breathe where I feel alive.
To rest when my nervous system asks me to.
To release what I cannot fix.
And to trust that what has been planted —
in my children, my marriage, my life —
is not forgotten.
Dear Little Girl,
You don’t have to rush growth.
You don’t have to force faith.
You don’t have to carry what isn’t yours to carry.
Seeds know what to do.
And so does God.
