Welcome back to my "From the Heart of the Homestead" series. If you missed my first article, you can go back to read my thoughts on why I'm writing these to you. Otherwise, enjoy this month's article!
There’s something about spring on the homestead that feels like a deep breath after a long winter.
Right now, our table is filling up again with fresh greens. Blue kales, spicy mustards, tender lettuces, and hearty spinach. After months of relying on preserved foods and root vegetables, these early harvests feel like exactly what our bodies have been craving.
The asparagus and rhubarb are pushing up strong, pulling minerals from deep in the soil, and with every bite, you can feel the nourishment.
It’s a gift I look forward to every year.
But what you don’t see when those greens hit the plate is how much care went into them long before harvest.
The Work Beneath the Surface
Those plants didn’t just appear overnight. They were started indoors weeks ago. Carefully watched. Adjusted. Nurtured.
Not too much water. Not too little. The right temperature. For just long enough.
It’s a rhythm I’ve grown to love. This quiet partnership with the changing seasons. It almost feels like I'm gently nudging winter out the door and welcoming spring in.
But if I’m being honest, it didn’t always look this way.
For years, my seedlings struggled. They were leggy, weak, sometimes stunted, and more than once, I lost them entirely during hardening off. In fact, I froze my plants nine different years in a row. Yes, nine.
I kept trying.
I adjusted the lighting. I improved watering. I added germination mats and eventually remembered to turn them off at the right time. Things got better, but something was still missing.
My plants weren’t thriving. And at the time, I didn’t realize that neither was I.
When Your Soul Feels Worn Thin
I grew up in a Christian home. Faith wasn’t something new to me. It was something I had seen lived out daily.
But as I stepped into my own walk with the Lord, I faced challenges just like we all do.
Some of those challenges strengthened my faith. But others shaped something less healthy.
I became very hard on myself.
There was this constant inner voice telling me to try harder, do better, and toughen up. And for a while, I thought that was a good thing. I did become more disciplined and more capable.
But I also became tired. Discouraged.
I remember a moment when I felt like Bilbo Baggins. I felt worn out, like I had already lived a long, hard life and didn’t have much left to give. The idea of another 50 years felt overwhelming.
The problem was that I was only in my late 30s.
Something wasn’t right.
Doing All the “Right” Things But Still Struggling
Kindness has always mattered deeply to me.
It is one of the ways we reflect God’s heart by honoring the value He has placed on others. And yet, I struggled to consistently show that same kindness to the people closest to me.
It felt like a battle I couldn’t win.
So I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I checked all the boxes.
✅ Prayer. Yes.
✅ Bible reading. Yes.
✅ Fellowship. Yes.
On the outside, everything looked right. But inside, my soul felt like it was withering.
The Missing Piece
Looking back, I can see it so clearly now.
My plants had a good start, but I wasn’t feeding them. There was no fertilizer and no added nutrients. Without that nourishment, they could not grow strong.
But what I was doing to myself was even worse. Not only was I failing to nourish my soul, I was actively poisoning it. With my own words.
Harsh. Critical. Unkind.
Over and over again, I was speaking those words over something tender that was trying to grow.
A Lesson From the Garden I Didn’t Expect
A few years ago, I planted two cramp bark bushes that I was especially excited about.
This plant is incredible. It is used medicinally, produces beautiful blossoms for pollinators, and even grows berries that can be used like cranberries. I had searched for weeks to find the right variety, and when I finally planted them, I had such high hopes.
For two seasons, they grew beautifully.
Then, almost overnight, one started dying. Shortly after, the second followed. I was heartbroken and completely confused.
Until I realized what had happened.
One of my children had been helping after doing an Epsom salt soak for a foot injury. Wanting to be helpful, she poured the salt water right onto the plants. A few days later, she did the same to the other one.
The salt poisoned the roots, and the plants never recovered.
When It All Clicked
That’s when it hit me. That is exactly what I had been doing to myself. Trying to fix things while pouring something harmful onto something tender.
Our words matter more than we realize. God created the world with His words, and we are made in His image.
That means our words carry weight. They carry power. The power of life or death.
So the real question becomes this. What are we speaking?
Choosing to Speak Life
I started making a simple but intentional change. In the garden, I began feeding my plants regularly and giving them the nourishment they had been missing.
In my life, I began doing the same with my thoughts. When I caught myself thinking, “I’m so stupid,” I replaced it with, “Thank God I’m forgiven.”
When I thought, “I can’t do anything right,” I reminded myself, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”
I began filtering my thoughts through God’s truth. Because if they do not align with His Word, what are they aligning with?
The Fruit of That Change
It didn’t take long to see the difference. My plants grew stronger. They became resilient and able to handle heat, wind, and even dry seasons.
And my soul began to heal. Joy returned. Strength returned. Life returned.
But something else changed, too.
It became easier to be kind to others. Not because I was trying harder, but because I was no longer living in constant inner conflict.
The truth is simple. You cannot truly love others while you are hating yourself.
A Gentle Reminder for You
Those small beginnings in your life, the new habits, the healing you are working toward, the steps of obedience, the acts of love, they are like little plants.
They need water. They need protection. They need warmth. They need nourishment.
So if you want something to grow, speak life over it.
Speak grace. Speak mercy. Speak hope. Speak faith. Speak love.
Even over yourself. Because you can nurture life, and just like I have seen in my garden and in my own heart, you can grow into a season of joy.
