There’s a kind of work that doesn’t show itself right away. You can’t measure it moment by moment, but something is always stirring beneath the surface, like bread rising.

I still marvel at the wonder of it. When I work with sourdough, I feed the starter and wait for it to double. It doesn’t look like much is happening, but the dough is quietly coming alive, changing texture, stretching upward.Then you mix in the bread ingredients and knead. After a bit of tending, it goes into a bowl to rise. This is my favorite part; the overnight rise. I put the dough in a big bowl, cover it with a damp towel, and go to bed. When I wake up, the bread isn’t curled at the bottom of the bowl anymore, it’s pushing the towel into a dome. It looks like Jabba the Hut - jiggly, alive, and almost overflowing. Nothing happened fast. It just… happened. Quietly. Faithfully. While I slept.

That's how growth works sometimes: when we're not looking.

It’s like watching kids grow. If you see them every day, you hardly notice. But miss a week? Suddenly they’re inches taller and their voices sound different. You have to raise your eyes to see them.

We’re in the season where the corn has reached its full height. It’s not yet ripe, but the ears are formed, wrapped in husks, and waiting. You can feel the fullness coming. The field whispers its promise: not yet, but soon.

That’s what this week has felt like to me. Not loud. Not flashy. But full of quiet growth.

There’s something I’m working on, something that’s quietly been forming for a long time. It’s not quite ready to share yet, but I can feel it starting to take shape. It’s a coming together of decades of preaching, study, and reflection; a slow rise that’s finally beginning to lift the towel. It's not spilling out just yet, but will be soon - and you will be the first to know about it, Reader. 😉

My wish for you this week is that you trust what’s growing unseen. Honor what’s ripening beneath the surface. And know that even when you can’t see how God is bringing about a new day, it’s still being done, inch by invisible inch. That's the fiLLLed life.

Live a fiLLLed life, Melissa ​