Devotional 33: The Quiet Work of Becoming

Why does real growth often feel so slow?

Many of us become discouraged because we can't see dramatic change in our lives. But what if God is doing His deepest work beneath the surface—like the roots of an oak tree growing long before anyone notices the branches?

In this devotional, we'll explore Philippians 1:6 and discover that God is far more committed to your formation than your performance.

Because the deepest work He does is often the work you cannot yet see.

🎧 EXTENDED SHOW NOTES

📖 Scripture

Philippians 1:6

Romans 12:2

2 Corinthians 3:18

Galatians 6:9

James 1:2–4

🌿 In This Devotional

This week, we're exploring a simple but powerful truth:

God's deepest work is often happening long before we recognize it.

Together we'll explore:

• Why spiritual growth often feels slower than we expect

• What an oak tree can teach us about becoming

• Why God cares more about roots than appearances

• How ordinary faithfulness quietly shapes extraordinary lives

• Why looking back often reveals growth we couldn't see while living it

• How to recognize God's quiet work in your own life

🌿 Continue the Journey

If today's conversation encouraged you, I invite you to listen to Episode 33: When Healing Changes Who You're Becoming.

You'll also find previous podcast episodes, devotionals, companion guides, reflective workbooks, and additional resources on the Healer & Hope Giver website.

Healing isn't only about changing your circumstances.

It's also about becoming the person God is quietly shaping you to be. 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:40

Hey friends, living in Houston, one thing you learn pretty quickly is that hurricanes have a way of revealing things you normally would never think about. After the storm passes and it's finally safe to go outside, people begin walking your neighborhoods. They're checking on neighbors, picking up branches, looking at fences, assessing the damage. And almost every time I find myself looking at the trees, some are split completely in half. Others have pulled out of the ground and leaves at all. Then there are the massive, the ones that make you stop with the massive little trees. They're branches maybe missing. Leaves scattered across the yard. Maybe they're leaving just a little, but somehow they're still scattering. I've always been fascinated by that. Because if you turn the past the same tree week the week before the week, you might have to stop why it's branches stretched across the yard. You might have appreciated the shade that provided the context this afternoon. You might have admired how beautiful I doubt I'm thinking about its roots. Honestly, most of us never do. Nobody walks through the neighborhood saying, Would you look at that incredible root system? We admire the branches. We notice the leaves. We appreciate the shade. We pay attention to the parts that we can see. But the tree isn't standing because of its branches. It's standing because of its roots. The branches may catch your attention, but it's the roots that prepare the tree for the storm. When the storm keeps pressing against it hour after hour, that's when you discover what was happening underground all along. The roots were quietly doing work nobody noticed long before the storm arrived. They were growing deeper, reaching farther, finding strength where no one else could see it. I've wondered if becoming more like Christ isn't a lot like that. Because most of God's work in our lives happens beneath the surface. It's quiet, it's unseen, it's almost impossible to measure while it's happening. We tend to notice the visible things, the big breakthroughs, the dramatic moments, the obvious changes. God often seems far more interested in the roots though. The trust that's quietly growing, the humility that's slowly taking shape, the compassion that wasn't there a year ago, the patience that's stretching just a little further than it used to, the willingness to forgive more quickly, the confidence to speak when you once stayed silent. Those things don't usually appear overnight. They grow slowly, quietly, almost invisibly, just like roots. And maybe that's why many of us become discouraged, because we're standing there looking at the branches while God has been growing the roots. That brings me to one of my favorite promises in Scripture. Paul writes in Philippians 1 6, I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. I love that verse because it reminds me that God isn't just interested in the beginning in beginning something, He finishes what He starts. Sometimes I think we read that verse like it's a promise about someday. One day I'll finally become who God wants me to be. One day I'll finally get there. One day everything will click. But the more I read it, the more I realize Paul isn't simply talking about the destination. He's talking about the journey. He's reminding us that God is still working right now, today, in this ordinary season, on this ordinary Wednesday, in this ordinary conversation, even when we can't see much changing, that's actually how roots grow. Nobody stands over an acorn every morning expecting to see a six-inch tree by the end of the week. That would be ridiculous. In fact, if you planted an acorn in your backyard this afternoon and walked outside tomorrow morning, you wouldn't see anything differently. The next day, probably still nothing. A week later, still nothing. From the outside it would look it would be very easy to conclude that nothing was happening. But beneath the surface, everything is happening. That seed would be softening, the life would be waking up, tiny roots would begin reaching into the soil, searching for water, searching for stibb stability, searching for something strong enough to hold on to before ever reaching upward. And isn't that interesting? Before God grows the tree, he grows the roots. Before there is shade, before there are branches, before anyone notice anything beautiful, the roots are quietly doing the work that will eventually support everything else. I've started wondering if that's why God's work in us often feels slower than we'd like. Because we're usually watching the branches. We're asking the questions like, Why am I not more patient? Why do I still struggle with this? Why don't I feel like I'm changing faster? Meanwhile, God may be smiling at you and saying, Because I'm strengthening the roots. I'm teaching you to trust me before I ask you to carry more. I'm building something that will last. I don't know about you, but I don't naturally pray for roots. I pray for results, for breakthroughs, for clarity. I pray for visible progress. Those aren't bad prayers, but I wonder how often God lovingly answers, I'm working on something even deeper. Because roots don't make headlines. They're hidden, they're slow, they're quiet, and yet they're the very reason that tree is still standing after the storm has passed. Maybe you've felt that tension before. Maybe you've been reading scripture, or you've been praying, or you've been trying to be faithful, you've been showing up, and yet part of you wonders, why don't I feel any different? Why does growth seem so slow? Can I gently encourage you today, friend? Don't confuse slow with stagnant, and don't confuse quiet with absent. Some of God's most important work happens in places you'll never fully see while it's happening. And that's true in nature. I think it's true in us too. You know what's interesting about growth? Most of the time you only recognize it after you've already grown. It's a little like looking at your kids. If you see them every day, you don't notice how much they've changed. But then someone pulls out an old picture from five years ago and suddenly everyone in the room says, Oh my goodness, look how little they were. The growth was happening every single day. You just couldn't see it while you were living it. I think that's true spiritually too. One of the things I shared in Monday's episode was that I found myself thinking a lot about who I was in 2015. If you had met me then, you wouldn't have met the person who's talking to you today. Not because I was pretending to be someone else. I simply was in a different season. Back then, I wasn't trying to become a podcaster. Honestly, podcasting wasn't even on my radar. I wasn't trying to become an author. I wasn't trying to build healer and hope giver. I wasn't trying to learn how to use my voice. Most days I was simply trying to be faithful with whatever God placed in front of me. Some days that looked like showing up for my family, other days it meant another doctor's appointment, some days it meant serving at church, some days it meant grieving. Some days it meant simply trusting God enough to take the next step when I couldn't see how much anything much farther than that. But if you had asked me then, Kim, what do you think God is building in your life? I honestly don't know what I would have said. Because from where I was standing, it mostly felt ordinary. There weren't dramatic breakthroughs every week. There weren't giant moments where everything suddenly made sense. There were a lot of ordinary days, ordinary conversations, ordinary responsibilities, ordinary opportunities to say yes to whatever God placed in front of me. And looking back now, I can see something I couldn't see then. God wasn't just helping me survive in those seasons, he was shaping me through them. Every conversation was teaching me something, every disappointment was softening something, every difficult seasoning was seasoning season was loosening my grip on something that I had been trying to control. Every unexpected detour was quietly stretching my trust. None of it felt dramatic. Most of it simply felt like life. But isn't that usually where something big happens? It's where becoming happens, not on the mountaintops, not during the moments that everyone else is celebrating, but in the ordinary places where faithfulness quietly becomes a habit. I've started wondering if we spend too much time waiting for life-changing moments when God is often changing our lives through the ordinary moments. Maybe becoming more compassionate looks like caring for a sick parent for months or years. Maybe becoming more patient looks like raising children who ask the same question 17 times before breakfast. Maybe becoming more dependent on God looks like walking through a season where you finally realize you don't have the strength to carry everything by yourself. Maybe becoming more courageous doesn't happen because you wake up one morning feeling brave. Maybe it happens because you kept saying yes to small opportunities until one day you look back and realize you're no longer the person you used to be. Growth rarely announces itself. It simply keeps showing up quietly, patiently, faithfully, until one day you catch yourself responding differently than you would have a year ago. You notice you're quicker to apologize, you recover from disappointment a little faster, you extend grace where you once would have held on to resentment, you find yourself praying before panicking, you notice compassion where judgment used to live. Those aren't small things, those are roots, those are signs that God has has been doing exactly what he promised in Philippians. He has carried his work forward, not all at once, one ordinary step at a time. I wonder if the reasons we become discouraged is because we're looking for growth in the wrong places. We ask ourselves questions like, why do I feel different? Why am I still struggling? Shouldn't I be farther along by now? Those questions usually come from an honest place. We generally want to be more like Christ, but feelings can be surprisingly poor measuring sticks. Some days you wake up feeling close to God, and some days you don't. Some days you feel incredibly patient, other days one slow driver or one difficult email is enough to test every ounce of that patience that you have. Feelings come and go, that's part of being human. But God has never measured your growth by your feelings. He looks at something much deeper. He looks at faithfulness. I've noticed something over the years. The people who have influenced me most spiritually are rarely the people who appear the most impressive. They're usually people who have simply been faithful for a very long time. The ones who quietly keep serving, quietly keep praying, keep loving difficult people, quietly keep trusting God when life doesn't make any sense. Their lives don't necessarily look dramatic, they look rooted. And I wonder if that's what Paul was trying to encourage when God when he wrote in Galatians, so we must not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don't give up. Notice what Paul doesn't say. He doesn't say if you worked hard, if you work hard enough, you'll see results tomorrow. He doesn't promise immediate change. He doesn't promise visible progress every week. He simply says, Don't give up, because there is a harvest coming. Trees don't spend their energy trying to produce fruit every single day. They simply keep drawing nourishment through their roots, season after season, storm after storm, year after year, and eventually fruit appears. Not because the tree forced it, because the roots supported it. We spend so much time evaluating the branches that God keeps strengthening the roots, and maybe we've had that backwards. Maybe we've been trying to manufacture fruit when God has been inviting us to deepen our roots, because healthier roots eventually produce healthier fruit, almost naturally, almost quietly, almost without us even realizing it. Can I invite you into a different kind of reflection this week? Instead of asking, why am I not farther along? Try asking, where has God already been quietly at work? Not ten years ago, not when you first became a Christian, just over the last year. Maybe you'll realize you recover from disappointment more quickly than you used to. Not perfectly, just more quickly. Maybe you don't stay offended as long. Maybe you're becoming quicker to apologize. Maybe you're slower to assume the worst about people. Maybe you find yourself asking questions before making judgments. Maybe you're learning to sit with uncertainty instead of needing to control everything. Maybe you pray sooner than you used to. Maybe you worry a little less. Maybe you notice gratitude showing up in places where complaining once lived. Those changes can feel almost too small to celebrate, but don't overlook them. An oak tree doesn't become strong because it grows twenty feet overnight. It becomes strong because it faithfully grows a little bit, day after day, season after season, year after year, until one day that storm arrives and everyone notices what the tree had been becoming all along. I wonder if that's true of us too. Maybe the difficult season you're walking through right now isn't just revealing your faith. Maybe it's revealing the roots that God has already been growing. And maybe, just maybe, you're stronger than you realize. Not because you've done everything perfectly, and not because you've arrived, but because God has faithfully been doing exactly what he promised, carrying his work forward even on ordinary days when you couldn't see it. As we begin to close today, I'd love to leave you with a few questions to carry you with you this week. Not as a test and not as a way of measuring whether you've grown enough, just as an invitation to notice what God may already be doing. Where do you find yourself becoming discouraged because growth feels slow? Have you been looking for dramatic change when God may be quietly cultivating deep roots? As you look back over the last year, not the last ten years, just the last year, where do you notice even small signs of God's work? Maybe you recover more quickly after disappointment. Maybe you're learning to trust God instead of trying to control every outcome. Maybe your first response has become prayer instead of panic. Maybe compassion has begun replacing criticism. Maybe you're becoming the kind of person who listens a little longer before speaking. Those aren't small changes, but those are roots. And one final question What ordinary responsibility has God entrusted you with today? Not someday, not next year, but today. Because you never know which ordinary act of faithfulness God is using to prepare you for something you can't yet see. Spend a little time with those questions this week. You may discover that God's work has been much more visible in the rear view mirror than it felt while you were living it. Let's pray. Father, thank you for being so patient with us. Thank you that you never measure our lives by how quickly we grow. Thank you that you are far more committed to our formation than our performance. Lord, so often we become discouraged because we can't see what you are doing. We compare ourselves to other people, we compare ourselves to where we thought we'd be by now. Sometimes we even compare ourselves to who we wish we were already. And all in all of that complaint comparing, it's easy to miss the quiet work you're faithfully doing beneath the surface. Would you help us to trust you in those unseen seasons? Help us to believe that just because growth feels slow doesn't mean you're absent. Teach us to become people with deep roots, roots that hold tightly to you when life becomes uncertain, roots that continue growing even when nobody else notices, roots that quietly produce compassion, humility, patience, wisdom, and faithfulness over time. Thank you for every ordinary day that you've used to shape us. Thank you for the conversations, the disappointments, the unexpected detours, and even the seasons that we wouldn't have chosen, because somehow you've been weaving all of them into the people you're creating us to become. Help us to be faithful with today's responsibilities, trusting that you're using even the smallest acts of obedience for purposes far greater than we can currently see. And when we become impatient with ourselves, remind us that you aren't finished yet. We pray this in Jesus' name. Amen. Before we go today, I'd love to leave you with a blessing. May you find peace in knowing that God is never in a hurry with people he loves. May you trust that the seasons which feel slow are often the seasons where roots grow the deepest. May you become less concerned with looking impressive and more concerned with staying deeply rooted in Christ. May your faith continue growing quietly beneath the surface. May your compassion deepen, may your trust become steadier, and your hope become stronger. May your roots hold firm when the winds of life begin to blow, and when you find yourself wondering whether anything is changing, may God gently remind you to look back and notice the ways his faithfulness has already been shaping your life. May you walk into this week with confidence that the God who began a good work in you has never stopped working, even now, even here, even in this ordinary season. If today's devotional resonated with you, I'd encourage you to spend some time with episode 33, When Healing Changes Who You're Becoming. On Monday, we explored how healing doesn't simply change our circumstances, it quietly changes who we're becoming over time. Today we focused on another beautiful reminder: God's deepest work is often happening long before we recognize it. If you're finding encouragement in these conversations, I'd invite you to explore some of the previous episodes within this arc. Together they've explored how God works beneath the surface, in our identity, in our health, our grief, our relationships, and now in the quiet work of becoming. You'll also find previous episodes, devotionals, companion guides, reflective workbooks, and other resources on the Healer and Hope Giver website, healerhopegiver.com. Wherever you find yourself today, remember this. Healing is only about what God is taking you. It's also about these faithfully faithfully shaping you to become the way. Until next time, friends. The next time you pass a straw tree, I hope you'll think about what you can't see. The branches are beautiful. They're part of what everyone notices. But they are the reason that tree is still standing. The roots that have been quietly preparing it for every storm. I think that's true of us too. When you wonder what God is. When you can't see much changing, remember that little tree. The deepest part is happening where you can't see it yet. So don't hesitate. It's the part of twice. For absolutely. Don't make that mistake. He's still growing something beautiful in you and in all of us. And I'll see you on Monday.