The Season Between Seeds and Harvest

There’s this stretch in life that nobody writes Hallmark cards about.
It’s not the moment of planting — where everyone is full of hope and excitement.
And it’s not the celebration of harvest — all joyful shouts and “look what God did!” kind-of energy.

It’s the middle. The in-between. That place where faith feels like work, and patience feels like punishment.

And if we’re being real, that middle ground?
It can seriously mess with you. Because it looks like nothing is happening, yet God is still whispering, “I’m still doing something.”

I think sometimes God hides growth on purpose. Because if we saw it all unfolding, we’d try to control it. Harsh, but true. We’d rush the process, yank the roots, and call it “helping God out.” But His timing isn’t based on our timeline — it’s rooted in eternity’s rhythm.

Hidden work is holy work.
Roots deepen before fruit develops.
Strength forms before harvest shows.
And that quiet, unseen stretch? It’s where trust grows legs.

Ask Joseph — sitting in prison while his dream looked dead.
Ask Hannah — weeping in the temple while her womb stayed silent.
Ask the disciples — staring at a sealed tomb while Heaven was writing the comeback story.

The pause wasn’t punishment. It was preparation.

Can I be honest? Waiting feels like the worst sometimes.

You’re showing up, praying, doing the right things — and still nothing looks different. But waiting isn’t weakness. It’s warfare.

It’s declaring, “God, I’m still planted even when I can’t see progress.” 
It’s refusing to dig up what He told you to sow.
Waiting is worship in disguise.

And sometimes, that worship sounds less like a song and more like a sigh —
a tired mom whispering, “Lord, help me not lose it today,”
a weary heart saying, “God, I believe, but help my unbelief,”
a broken dream saying, “I’ll still trust You, even if I don’t understand.”

That’s the heart of Habakkuk 3:17–18, the “even if” kind of faith –
"Though the fig tree doesn’t bud and there’s no fruit on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, yet I will celebrate in the Lord; I will rejoice in the God of my salvation."

That’s not denial — that’s hope that refuses to quit. 
It’s saying, “Even if nothing’s blooming, I’ll still bless the One who planted me.”

Because like Romans 8:25 reminds us, “If we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”

My friend, don’t mistake the silence for absence. Sometimes the soil is just shifting under the surface.

Ask yourself –

• What seed have I planted that I’m tempted to abandon?
• Where have I gotten weary instead of expectant?
• What small obedience can I keep doing even when I can’t see the outcome?
• Where do you need to rest your shovel and let God handle the soil?

You might feel buried, but maybe — just maybe — you’re being planted. And the same hands that formed the seed are forming your season.

Jesus, Thank You for being patient with me when I’m impatient with You. Remind me that delay doesn’t mean denial. Grow my roots deep in Your Word and my trust stronger in Your timing. Teach me to worship in the waiting and to see Your hand in the hidden work. I won’t give up — because I know You’re not done. In Jesus' Name, Amen.