Devotional 26: When You Can't Yet See the Growth

Have you ever wondered if you're actually making progress?

Maybe you're still wrestling with the same fears, grief, temptations, anxieties, or questions you thought you would have overcome by now. In those moments, it's easy to assume nothing is changing.

But what if growth is happening in places you simply can't see yet?

In this devotional, we explore the quiet nature of God's work, the hidden growth of deep roots, and the comforting promise that the God who began a good work in you is still faithfully carrying it forward.

Sometimes the roots grow long before the fruit appears.

Expanded Show Notes

Scripture References

Epistle to the Philippians 1:6

Epistle to the Galatians 6:9

Gospel of John 15:1–5

Psalms 1:1–3

Growth can be difficult to recognize while you're living inside it.

You still feel the grief.

You still notice the anxiety.

You still see the unfinished places.

And because those struggles remain visible, it's easy to assume progress isn't happening.

In this devotional we explore:

• the hidden nature of spiritual growth 
• why roots grow before fruit appears 
• trusting God's work in the middle of the process 
• the difference between visible results and ongoing formation 
• remaining connected to Christ when progress feels slow 

Together we reflect on the possibility that God may be doing far more beneath the surface than we currently recognize.

Continue the Journey

Episode 26 — The Sponge Principle: What Comes Out Under Pressure

Devotional 24 — When You Learned to Adapt to Belong

Devotional 12 — Faithfulness Without Pressure

Continue your journey through devotionals, companion guides, workbooks, and resources at Healer & Hope Giver.

New episodes release every Monday and Thursday.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:37

Hey friends, have you ever noticed how difficult it can be to measure growth while you're living inside of it? It's easy to recognize growth when we can compare two photographs taken years apart. It's easy to recognize growth when we look back on a season that has already ended. Sometimes it's even easy to recognize growth in someone else's life because we can see changes they made, or they might be too close to notice themselves. But when it comes to our own lives, growth feels so much harder to measure. Maybe that's because we experience ourselves every day. We see the moments where we lose patience. We notice the fears that still show up. We recognize the habits we're still trying to break, the temptations we still face, and the places where healing feels slower than we hoped it would be. We live close enough to our own unfinished places that they can become much easier to see than the quiet ways that God may already be changing us. And because of that, there can be seasons where it feels like very little progress is being made. You pray for peace and still feel anxious. You pray for healing and still feel grief. You pray for wisdom and still feel uncertain. You ask God to help you grow, and then you find yourself face to face with the same struggles you thought that you would have moved on by now. And if we're not careful, we can start using those moments as evidence. Evidence we're stuck, evidence that we're failing, evidence that God isn't doing as much as we hoped he would. But I wonder if growth is often harder to recognize than we realize. I wonder if part of the challenge is that we tend to look for fruit while still is while God is still growing the roots. Because roots grow quietly. They grow beneath the surface where no one can see them. And for a long time it can look like nothing is happening at all. Yet some of the most important growth is taking place in exactly those hidden places. And maybe that's where I want us to begin today. Not by looking for proof that everything has changed, but by considering the possibility that God may be doing more beneath the surface than you can currently see. As I was sitting with that thought, I found myself returning to the verse, or to a verse, that many of us have heard countless times. It's found in Epistle to the Philippians 1, 6. He who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. It's a beautiful promise, but I wonder if we sometimes read it from the wrong side of the process. We love the idea of completion, we love the idea of seeing finished work, we love the stories where growth is obvious, healing is visible, and transformation can be clearly measured. But the promise itself is not primarily about completion, it's about continuation. Paul isn't reminding believers that God finished a work in them. He's reminding them that God started one and is still carrying it forward. And I think that's important because most of life is lived in the middle, not at the beginning, not at the end, in the middle. The middle is where faith still feels unfinished. The middle is where healing is unfolding. The middle is where the questions still exist. The middle is where growth often feels slower than we hoped it would. And yet Paul writes as though God's faithfulness can be trusted even there. Not because the evidence is always obvious, but because the one doing the work is trustworthy. The more I think about that, the more I realize how often we evaluate growth by what we can immediately observe. We look at today's emotions, today's struggles, today's failures, today's circumstances, and quietly use them to determine whether progress is being made. But Scripture repeatedly invites us to think differently. Consider the image from Psalms 1. The righteous person is described as a tree planted beside flowing streams, sending roots deep into a reliable source of nourishment. The emphasis is not on dramatic growth, the emphasis is on steady rootedness. What makes the image so powerful is that the roots are largely invisible. No one stands in front of a tree admiring its root system. No one takes photographs of the roots. No one compliments the hidden work happening beneath the soil. And yet those hidden places determine everything that eventually becomes visible. Long before fruit appears, the roots were growing. Long before strength becomes obvious, roots were growing. Long before the tree can withstand a drought or a storm, the roots are growing. The visible evidence comes later, and I wonder how often God's work in our lives follows a similar pattern. We ask him for peace, and perhaps we begin he begins growing us or growing trust in us before we notice the peace. We ask him for wisdom, and perhaps he begins deepening our dependence on him before we recognize wisdom. We ask him for healing, and perhaps he begins strengthening the roots that will eventually support the fruit we cannot yet imagine. That doesn't mean the process feels easy. In fact, one of the hardest parts of growth is how hidden it can be while it's happening. Which is why, or maybe why, Jesus uses another image in the Gospel of John 15 when he describes himself as the vine and his followers as the branches. The invitation is not to manufacture fruit through effort, the invitation is to remain connected, abide, stay, remain, because growth is ultimately the result of relationship before it's the result of effort. A relationship often deepens quietly long before the fruit becomes obvious. I think one of the reasons growth can feel so discouraging is that we naturally look for evidence in the places that are easiest to see. We notice today's emotions, today's struggles, today's failures, today's temptation, and today's worries. And because those things are visible, they can begin to feel like the most accurate measure of what's happening in our lives. But I wonder how often that measurement tells only a small part of the story. For example, have you ever found yourself discouraged because a struggle you thought you had already worked through suddenly reappeared again? Maybe anxiety resurfaced during a difficult season. Maybe grief caught you by surprise months after you thought you were doing better. Maybe an old fear, an old habit, or an old insecurity showed up when life became stressful. Because these moments can feel incredibly defeating. Almost immediately we begin asking questions. Why am I still dealing with this? Shouldn't I be further along by now? If God was really working in my life, why does this still affect me? And because we want growth to feel obvious, we often assume the presence of struggle must mean the absence of progress. But those aren't necessarily the same thing. I don't, I mean, are they? I don't I don't know that they are. In fact, when I look at scripture, I see people who were still growing while they were struggling. I see disciples who followed Jesus faithfully while still misunderstanding things. I see David trusting God deeply while still wrestling with fear and uncertainty. I see Paul writing about contentment while also describing weakness, hardship, and dependence on God's strength. Growth and struggle seem to coexist more often than we expect, which makes me wonder if we sometimes create a standard that God never actually established. We quietly assume that growth means the disappearance of every challenge, that healing means never feeling grief again, that peace means never feeling anxious, or that maturity means never facing facing temptation. But scripture rarely describes transformation that way. More often it describes people learning to trust God within the struggle rather than escaping the struggle altogether. And perhaps that changes the way we evaluate what's happening in our own lives. Because growth is not the absence of difficulty, or if growth is not the absence of difficulty, then the presence of difficulty is not proof that growth isn't occurring. The struggle may be visible, the growth may be hidden. But hidden doesn't mean absent, which brings me to a verse I think many of us need to hear differently. In Galatians 6 9, Paul writes, Let us not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we do not give up. I used to read that verse mostly as encouragement to keep going, and it certainly is that. We grow weary when we're doing the work but cannot see the results. We grow weary when faithfulness feels ordinary and progress feels difficult to measure. We grow weary in the middle. And maybe that's exactly why the verse matters so much, because God knows there are seasons when growth is happening beneath the surface long before we can recognize the evidence for ourselves. I think, or the more I think about that, the more I wonder how many things God grows in our lives long before we recognize them for ourselves. Not because he's hiding his work from us, but because some forms of growth are simply difficult to measure while they're happening. Think about a tree for a moment. If you walk past it every day, you won't see it growing. You don't notice the roots extending deeper into the soil, you don't watch the trunks strengthen cell by cell, you don't witness the slow, quiet work taking place beneath the surface. Day after day it appears largely largely unchanged, and yet something is happening. Life is being sustained, roots are spreading, strength is developing, the visible evidence simply hasn't arrived yet. I wonder if there are seasons where God's work in us looks similar. We assume growth should always feel dramatic. We expect to notice immediate differences. We look for obvious signs that everything is changing, but many of the most significant things God does in a person's life happen quietly and gradually. Trust deepens one decision at a time, character forms through ordinary faithfulness, wisdom grows through repeated dependence on God. Patience develops through circumstances we never would have chosen. And yet none of those things announce themselves while they're happening. Most of the time they reveal themselves later, often in hindsight. You find yourself facing a situation that once would have overwhelmed you and suddenly you realize you're responding differently. You notice that your first instinct is prayer instead of panic. You recognize that something which used to consume your thoughts no longer holds the same power over you. You discover that your perspective has shifted in ways you never consciously tracked. And only then do you realize growth has been occurring all along. Not because you saw it every day, but because the roots were growing before the fruit appeared. I think that's one reason discouragement can be so misleading. Discouragement often focuses our attention on what's missing. What hasn't changed yet, what still feels difficult, what remains unfinished. And while those things are real, they are not always a complete picture. A tree can appear unchanged above ground while tremendous development is happening below it. Likewise, a person can still feel grief and be healing, still feel fear and be growing encouraged, still experience uncertainty and be learning deeper trust, still wrestle with temptation and be becoming more dependent on God's strength. The presence of struggle does not automatically mean the absence of growth. In fact, some of the deepest growth happens precisely because we continue bringing those struggles to God instead of asking, instead of walking away from Him. Which brings me back to something Jesus says in John 15. His focus is surprisingly simple. Remain in me. Abide, stay connected, remain. It's interesting because Jesus doesn't tell his followers to obsess over fruit. He doesn't tell them to constantly inspect themselves for evidence of growth. He doesn't place the burden of transformation entirely on their shoulders. Instead, he keeps returning to relationship. Remain in me. Because the branch does not create fruit by striving harder. It bears fruit by remaining connected to the vine. And perhaps that is needed, a needed reminder for some of us today. Your responsibility is not to manufacture visible growth on demand. Your responsibility is to remain connected to the one who produces growth in his timing. To stay, to trust, to continue showing up. Even when the roots are doing their work where you cannot see them. Perhaps the hardest part of growth is not the worth work itself. It's the waiting, the uncertainty, the inability to always see what God is doing while He's doing it. Most of us are far more comfortable with visible progress than invisible progress. We like evidence. We like to measure results. We like being able to point to something and say, see, that's where the growth happened. But faith often asks us to trust before we can fully see, not blindly and not foolishly, but trustingly. The kind of trust that believes God's faithfulness is not dependent upon our ability to track every stage of the process. When I think about the people who we encounter through Scripture, very few of them had the advantage of seeing the whole story while they were living it. Abraham did not know where every step of obedience would lead. Joseph did not see the redemption while sitting in a prison cell. David spent years between being anointed king and becoming king. The disciples often misunderstood what Jesus was doing while they were walking beside him. Again and again, God's people were invited to trust his work long before they could fully recognize the outcome. And perhaps that's still true for us today. Perhaps some of the things that you are praying for are already being worked, being worked on in ways you cannot yet recognize. Perhaps the strength you need is growing deeper roots before it becomes visible courage. Perhaps the wisdom you are asking for is being formed through experiences that currently feel confusing. Perhaps the peace you long for is developing beneath the surface through thousands of small moments of trust that seem insignificant on their own, but are quietly reshaping your heart over time. And perhaps some of the evidence you're hoping to see simply hasn't had time to emerge yet. I think one of the enemy's favorite lies is convincing us that unfinished means unchanged, that because the struggle still exists, nothing is happening. That because the harvest is not visible, the seed never took root. That because we still feel weak, God must not be working. But scripture consistently tells a different story. That seed grows before the harvest. The roots deepen before the root the fruit appears. The branch remains before it bears. The work begins long before it is completed. And maybe that's why Philippians 1:6 feels so reassuring. Paul doesn't say that God might finish the work he began. He doesn't say that God will continue the work as long as we never struggle, never doubt, or never experience setbacks. He simply says that the God who started the works is the God who will continue it. The confidence rests on the character of God, not in the speed of our progress. And that changes everything because suddenly the question is no longer why am I not finished yet? The question becomes, can I trust the one who is still working? And that's a very different question. One creates pressure and the other creates peace. One keeps our attention fixed on what is still unfinished, and the other reminds us that unfinished does not mean abandoned. The story is not over simply because the work is not complete. And maybe that's exactly what some of us need to remember today. The places in your life that still feel unfinished are not evidence that God has stopped working. They may simply be evidence that the story is still being written. And if the God who began the work is still holding the pen, there is every reason to trust what he is doing, even in the chapters where growth is harder to see. As you sit with this today, I don't think the invitation is to search your life for dramatic proof that everything is changing. In fact, if we're not careful, we can turn growth into another performance measurement. We can start evaluating ourselves constantly, looking for evidence, tracking progress, and wondering whether we've improved enough to justify hope. But that isn't what Jesus invites us into. The invitation is relationship. The invitation is trust. The invitation is remaining connected to God who continues working even when his work feels difficult to measure. So perhaps instead of asking yourself whether you've changed enough, it may be worth considering a different question. When you look at your life, where are you most tempted to believe that nothing is happening? Is it in your healing, your faith, your grief, your relationships, your prayer life, your ability to trust God wherever that place may be? Can you imagine the possibility that God sees more growth than you do right now? Can you imagine that roots may be developing beneath the surface in ways that have not yet become visible? Can you imagine that the fact you're still showing up, still seeking him, still praying, still trusting, still remaining connected, may itself be the evidence that his work is continuing? And perhaps the question to carry with you this week is simply this where may God already be growing something in your life that you simply haven't recognized yet? As we move into prayer, you don't need to bring evidence of growth with you. You don't need to prove that progress is happening. You don't need to convince God that the work is worth continuing. You can simply come as you are and trust that He sees far more than you can currently see in yourself. God, thank you that your faithfulness is not dependent on our ability to measure progress. Thank you that you continue working in our lives even when growth feels slow, hidden, or difficult to recognize. Thank you that you are patient with us in the middle places, the unfinished places, and the places where we still long to see change. Forgive us for the times that we have mistaken struggle for failure or assume that the presence of difficulty meant that you had stopped working. Help us remember that growth and struggle often exist together. Help us to trust that you are still at work even when we cannot immediately see the evidence. Would you strengthen our faith in the seasons where roots are growing beneath the surface? Teach us to remain connected to you rather than becoming consumed with measuring results. Help us to trust your timing when progress feels slower than we hoped, and your process when we cannot yet understand what you are doing. And for anyone listening today who feels discouraged, weary, or tempted to give up, would you gently remind them that you have not abandoned the work you began? Strengthen their hearts, renew their hope, and help them see signs of your faithfulness, even in places that still feel unfinished. Thank you that you are the God who begins good work and faithfully carries it forward. Amen. As you move into the rest of your week, may you find peace in the knowledge that God is still working, even in the places where growth feels difficult to see. May you recognize evidence of his faithfulness in unexpected places. May you notice small signs of grace that remind you his work is still continuing, even when the harvest has not yet appeared. May you trust the roots before you see fruit. May you trust the process before you see the outcome. May you trust the God who remains faithful in every unfinished chapter. And when discouragement whispers nothing is changing, may you remember that hidden growth is still growth, unseen roots are still growing, and God's work is often deeper than what is immediate immediately visible. May you rest in the confidence that the one who began a good work in you has not forgotten it, abandoned it, or walked away from it. And may you continue discovering one step at a time that his faithfulness is present even in the places that you are still becoming. If this resonated, you might want to spend some time with episode 26, The Sponge Principle, What Comes Out Under Pressure. It explores how healing, faith, and formation often become visible only when life applies pressure, revealing what God has been cultivating beneath the surface all along. Or devotional 24, when you learn to adapt to belong. If you've ever felt discouraged by old reactions or familiar struggles resurfacing, this devotional offers a gentle reminder that God's love remains steady even while healing continues. Or even devotional twelve, faithfulness without pressure. If you've been carrying the weight of needing to see immediate results, this devotional explores what it looks like to remain faithful without turning growth into performance. Thank you for spending this time with me today. If this devotional met you in a place that feels weary or discouraged, I hope you'll carry this reminder with you throughout the week. Not all growth is immediately visible. Some of the most important things that God does in our lives happen quietly, beneath the surface, in places that you don't always that don't always show up on a scoreboard, a timeline, or a progress report. Roots grow before fruit appears, and sometimes what feels like slow progress is actually deep formation. If you'd like to continue exploring these themes, you'll find devotionals, companion guides, workbooks, and a guided pathway through the Healer Hope Giver ecosystem at www.healerhopegiver.com. Everything there is designed to help you engage these conversations at your own pace and find resources that meet you where you are. If this episode encouraged you, one of the simplest ways you can help someone else find this space is by sharing it with them. You never know who may need the reminder that God is still working even when they can't see the evidence. If you haven't already, I'd love for you to follow the podcast wherever you listen so these Monday conversations and Thursday devotionals can continue meeting you each week. And if YouTube is your preferred place to listen, you'll find the entire library there as well. And as always, if something in today's episode stayed with you, I'd love to hear about it. You can message me through social media or through the website. I read every single message, and many future conversations begin because someone was willing to share what resonated, what challenged them, or what they're still processing. We'll continue the conversation on Monday in our next long form episode, and then meet back here again on Thursday. Until next time, may you trust the roots before you see fruit, trust the process before you see the outcome, and trust the God who faithfully is completing the work He began in you.