Repotted

I was fired from my job in February.

I could spend a lot of time talking about how that experience left me feeling broken, bitter, and disappointed. The truth is, what hurt the most wasn’t losing the job itself, it was losing the people. I loved what I did, but I adored the relationships I built along the way.

The adjustment to being home every day has been an unexpected journey. Somewhere between processing loss and learning to slow down, I decided to go all in on gardening.

And when I say all in, I mean all in.

I’ve become that lady with a garden hose in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, standing in the yard wearing a housecoat and bonnet, inspecting every leaf as if my plants personally report to me.

So imagine my anxiety after several days of steady rain.

My potted plants were not happy, and neither was I. I’ve been hovering over them all week, checking soil moisture, moving pots, trimming leaves, and doing everything I could think of to help them recover.

This morning, I noticed one of my favorite blooms still wasn’t drying out. I decided to move it into a sunnier spot. As I lifted the pot, it slipped from my hands and shattered.

Instantly, I panicked.

Not the pot.

Not this plant.

I quickly searched for another container. The only ones available were larger than I thought the plant needed, but it had to be repotted immediately.

As I gently lifted the plant from the broken pot, I discovered something unexpected.

Its roots had completely outgrown its home.

What I thought was a setback was actually a rescue.

Had the pot not broken, I would never have realized that my most beloved bloom had no room left to grow.

I stood there holding the pieces of that beautiful pot and felt God whisper a lesson straight to my heart.

Sometimes brokenness reveals what comfort conceals.

My old pot was beautiful. Familiar. Comfortable. Safe.

But it was too small for what the plant was becoming.

And maybe that’s true for us, too.

As I looked at the broken pieces, I began to think about my own life. So much of what I knew before February feels broken beyond repair. The plans I had, the routines I cherished, the identity I carried through my work, so much of it shattered unexpectedly.

But it has been in this season of brokenness that I’ve discovered something important.

My roots had outgrown the place where I was planted.

What I thought I wanted isn’t necessarily all that God has for me.

And sometimes, before a larger bloom can emerge, we have to be repotted.

Repotting isn’t comfortable.

It disrupts everything.

It requires deeper soil, more space, and a willingness to trust the process. Yet deeper roots create stronger plants. They help us withstand storms, survive transitions, and eventually produce blooms that are even more beautiful than before.

I don’t know exactly what’s next.

The future remains unwritten.

But for now, I’m choosing to rest in my daily relationship with God. I’m allowing my roots to stretch deeper into His peace, His joy, His provision, and His care.

The old pot may be broken.

But the bloom is still growing.

And I have a feeling the best blossoms are yet to come.

Stay tuned for more adventures in the garden.