109 | More Than Flowers Left: Trusting God With the Harvest You Didn't Get to Keep

111 | The Plants Worth Fighting For: Knowing What to Save and What to Let Go

There's an eggplant in my garden I'm about to give up on — and a pepper I'd fight this whole summer for. This week we sit with the hardest, holiest work of the late-summer garden: knowing what to release to the compost, and what to kneel down and fight for. In this episode It's mid-July in my Houston garden, and something I've never even seen is hollowing out my eggplants overnight — leaving just the shell by morning. Three feet away, the gypsy peppers I grew up with in Romania are battered by heat and bugs and still setting sweet little yellow fruit. One I think I need to let go. One I'm feeding, and fighting for. And standing there with my coffee going cold, I realized that's the exact decision so many of us are avoiding in our own lives. We open in Luke 13:6–9 — the fig tree the owner wants cut down, and the gardener who says, "Leave it one more year; let me dig around it and fertilize it." Both voices are true. The whole work of a faithful life is learning which one this season calls for. What we cover * Why letting something go is not the same as failing — and how the compost pile becomes provision for the next season * How to tell the difference between faithful holding-on and fear-driven gripping * What it really costs to "dig around and fertilize" the things worth saving * The heritage thread: why some plants (and some parts of our story) are worth fighting for because they're who we are Two new things this week * 🌱 True or Trowel — a quick garden true-or-false to spark your curiosity (this week: what's really hollowing out your fruit overnight?) * 💬 From the Garden Gate — a new weekly segment where I answer one real question. I'm getting us started with one of my own this week — and I'd love the next one to be yours (see below). The gentle truth to carry with you Some things get the compost pile. Some things get one more year. And being tender with both is the work. Before you go Follow + one word. If this one found you today, follow Rooted in Grace so the next quiet moment finds you without you having to go looking for it — on Apple Podcasts [https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rooted-in-grace-intuitive-gardening-for-christian-women/id1823571984], Spotify [https://open.spotify.com/show/4EgefPSugDXkshfcW1ZvjC], or the Podbean app [https://rootedingrace.podbean.com/]. Then leave a comment or send me a message with just one word: the thing you know it's time to compost. I read every single one. Ask me your question. From the Garden Gate is new, and I'd love the next question to come from you. Email me, comment right here, or come find me on Instagram [https://www.instagram.com/southernsoils/] or in our Rooted Jesus Girls Facebook group [https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18TwbLpTK6/], and tell me what you're wrestling with — in your garden or in your walk. Your question may be featured on a future episode. And whenever you're ready for a little more, the free Rooted in Grace guide is always waiting for you at rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook [https://rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook]. This week's reflection question: What's the one thing you've been watering out of fear — and the one thing that's still quietly bearing fruit that could use your care instead? Until next time — stay rooted, and grow with grace. 🌿

110 | Rooted Moment - The Seeds I Forgot

📖 Read the companion blog devotional: The Seeds I Forgot [https://rootedingrace.me/post/the-seeds-i-forgot] Have you been gripping something so tightly you're afraid to let go? Living like the growth all depends on you — your effort, your watering, your constant presence? This short Rooted Moment is for you. Home from a month away, Sanda saves one small, surprising thing she couldn't rush past on Tuesday: the okra seeds she threw in the ground on her way out the door — no watering, no fuss, forgotten for a month — that came home to her as gorgeous, towering "okra trees," the healthiest plants in her whole garden. Through 1 Corinthians 3:6–7 — "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth… only God who gives the growth" — this is a gentle word for the woman who's been living like her grip is the only thing holding it all together. The seeds that thrived on neglect preach the truth: the growing was never yours to do. The God who grew that garden while you were on the other side of the world is tending the seeds you planted in your children, your marriage, your work, your quiet prayers — the whole time you weren't watching. A gentle practice: name one thing you've been anxiously gripping, open your hand around it, and say it out loud — "I planted this. I've watered what I could. But You give the growth — not me. I can rest." 📖 The Rooted in Grace eBook is yours, free [https://rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook] — a gentle companion for meeting God in the ordinary garden of your life, and letting Him carry what was never yours to carry. 📗 Something to hold, or to give a friend: the Rooted in Grace paperback [https://amzn.to/4efVU3D] and the 30-Day Rooted in Grace Devotional [https://amzn.to/4vQgxd5]. 🎧 Listen & subscribe: Podbean [https://rootedingrace.podbean.com/] · Apple Podcasts [https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rooted-in-grace-intuitive-gardening-for-christian-women/id1823571984] · Spotify [https://open.spotify.com/show/4EgefPSugDXkshfcW1ZvjC] If this loosened something you've been holding too tightly, would you leave a rating and review? It helps another worn-out woman find her way to this little garden gate. And tell me: what have you been gripping — and where might you see that God was giving the growth all along? Leave a comment, or share this with a friend who needs to rest her hands today. Until next time — stay rooted, and grow with grace. 🌿

109 | More Than Flowers Left: Trusting God With the Harvest You Didn't Get to Keep

She came home to a garden gone wild — and a lesson she didn't expect. After a month away, Sanda spent a week on her knees in the Texas heat resetting her whole garden with her mom beside her. She grieved the tomatoes the heat and pests took. But the okra she threw in the ground and abandoned became trees. Friends had picked from her garden while she was gone. And a woman in the Romanian countryside, with almost nothing, filled her arms with squash. This is an episode about the abundance that was never only ours to hold. We measure abundance by what we get to enjoy — what makes it onto our own table, into our own hands. So when a season gives us less than we hoped, we grieve it. We keep a quiet ledger of what we lost. Sanda came home from Romania to a jungle: squash that had swallowed the paths, spent tomatoes, a tangle everywhere. Her mom rolled up her sleeves and helped her reset the whole thing — a hard, heartbreaking, strangely cathartic pruning. She grieved the tomatoes the harsh, unpredictable weather and the humid-heat pests had finished off. But then the garden started preaching. The okra seeds she'd tossed in the ground on her way out the door — no watering, no fuss — had become the healthiest plants she owned, thriving on the very heat that killed everything else. Hidden cucumbers, some overgrown and yellow, still tasted amazing. Zinnias and marigolds spilled over their beds, beautiful in their chaos. Her favorite part wasn't the harvest — it was the days in the dirt with her mom, talking about what to plant next, the Romanian bean seeds she carried home. When her husband asked, "It's only flowers left now, right?" she said no — there are still peppers, eggplant, basil drying, cucumbers. Every time she walks out, she brings something back. Even reset, even humbled, the garden still feeds them. Even on the days she comes to it empty and melancholy, it heals and re-centers her. Then she remembered a woman in the Romanian countryside — someone she didn't know, who didn't have much, but who stewarded her garden with such wisdom: she knew exactly which plants to water and which to leave to God, how to steward her energy, how to share the work of her hands. Out of her little, she filled Sanda's arms with squash. And it clicked: while Sanda was gone, friends had come and picked from her garden at will. The abundance she'd been grieving wasn't wasted — it was enjoyed by someone else. And that is good enough. That is more than good enough. Through 1 Corinthians 3, 2 Corinthians 9, and Psalm 145, this is a conversation for every woman who poured herself into a season and didn't get to hold the fruit of it — and needs to hear that her labor was not wasted, and the abundance was never only hers. In this episode: * Why the okra she threw down and abandoned outgrew the tomatoes she babied — "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth" (1 Corinthians 3:6–7), and the relief of knowing the harvest was never yours to manufacture * The Romanian woman with almost nothing who knew exactly which plants to water and which to leave to God — and why stewarding your energy and your limits is wisdom, not laziness * "You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way" (2 Corinthians 9:10–11) — why the abundance was always meant to flow through you, not stockpile in you * How the friends who picked from her garden while she was away turned her grief into gratitude — your labor enjoyed by someone else is not your labor wasted * "You open your hand; you satisfy the desire of every living thing" (Psalm 145:15–16) — the God who fed her garden the whole month she was on the other side of the world * Three formation practices: do the honest reset (and don't do it alone), water your part and entrust the rest, and give some of the harvest away on purpose A breath prayer to carry with you: I plant, and I water… but You give the growth. Take your next step: 📖 The Rooted in Grace eBook is yours, free [https://rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook] — a gentle companion for meeting God in the real, ordinary garden of an everyday life, and learning to receive from it without gripping it. 🌱 Worn down from trying to water a whole garden by yourself? Rooted Reset [https://rootedingrace.me] is a five-day, mostly quiet email journey to help you interrupt the urgency and let your own soul be the thing that gets tended, one small step at a time. 📗 For a woman who needs reminding that what she gives away is never lost — the Rooted in Grace paperback [https://amzn.to/4efVU3D] and the 30-Day Rooted in Grace Devotional [https://amzn.to/4vQgxd5] both make tender gifts. 🎧 Listen & subscribe: Podbean [https://rootedingrace.podbean.com/] · Apple Podcasts [https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rooted-in-grace-intuitive-gardening-for-christian-women/id1823571984] · Spotify [https://open.spotify.com/show/4EgefPSugDXkshfcW1ZvjC] If this episode reached a tired, grieving place in you, would you leave a rating and review? It's the simplest way to help another woman find this little garden gate — and it means more than you know. And I'd love to hear from you: what season did you pour yourself into without getting to hold the fruit — and where might you see that it fed someone else's table? Leave a comment, share this with a friend who's been carrying more than was hers to carry, or simply reply and tell me where you are. I read every one. Until then — stay rooted, and grow with grace. 🌿

108 | Rooted Moment - Engraved!

Have you ever wondered if you've been forgotten? If the years and the distance and everything that's changed have somehow erased the woman you used to be? This short Rooted Moment is for you. Home from Romania, Sanda saves one small, tender thing she couldn't rush past on Tuesday: the chalk drawings she and her sisters made as little girls, still on the outside wall of her childhood home — kept for thirty-five years under the terrace, protected from every storm, like little cave paintings waiting for her to come back and find them. Through Isaiah 49:15–16 — "Though she may forget, I will not forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands" — this is a gentle word for anyone who has quietly feared she's slipped out of God's mind. What you were sure time washed away, He has been keeping the whole time. And you are not chalk that might one day fade — you are engraved on His hands, carved in, remembered every time He looks down. A gentle practice: hold out your own palm today, and say the true thing back to Him — "I am engraved on Your hands. You have not forgotten me. Even here. Even now." 📖 The Rooted in Grace eBook is yours, free [https://rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook] — a gentle companion for finding God in the tender, ordinary places of your life. 📗 Something to hold, or to give a friend: the Rooted in Grace paperback [https://amzn.to/4efVU3D] and the 30-Day Rooted in Grace Devotional [https://amzn.to/4vQgxd5]. 🎧 Listen & subscribe: Podbean [https://rootedingrace.podbean.com/] · Apple Podcasts [https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rooted-in-grace-intuitive-gardening-for-christian-women/id1823571984] · Spotify [https://open.spotify.com/show/4EgefPSugDXkshfcW1ZvjC] If this found a forgotten place in you, would you leave a rating and review? It helps another woman who's wondered the same thing find her way to this little garden gate. And tell me: where have you feared you were forgotten — and where have you seen that you were kept all along? Leave a comment, or share this with a friend who needs it today. Until next time — stay rooted, and grow with grace. 🌿

107 | The Garden I Came From: What Romania Taught Me About a God Whose Faithfulness Crosses Every Border

She's home. After a month of episodes recorded before she left, Sanda is back in Texas — and back at the microphone in real time. This is the "full report" she kept promising you from Romania: what the soil that made her actually looked like after twenty-one years away, and what her own wild, overgrown garden taught her the week she got home. For a whole month, every episode ended the same way — when I'm back, I'll bring you the full report. Today she makes good on it. Sanda grew up watching her parents garden not for pleasure but for survival — long, hard hours in Romanian soil she once resented and later understood had made her a gardener for life. Twenty-one years and an ocean later, she stood in that country again. In the market: fruit and vegetables still warm from the field, and a flavor she'd almost forgotten was possible — that's what a tomato is supposed to taste like. Then she went to the actual home — the house and garden of her childhood in a small town in western Romania. She didn't need a map; her body knew every street. The house belongs to another family now, remodeled and reshaped for a new generation. But under the terrace, protected from thirty-five years of weather, the chalk drawings she and her sisters made as girls were still there — kept, like little cave paintings, waiting for her to come back and find them. The old grapevine was replaced but still throwing down the same green shade. The strawberry patch was gone. The garden was smaller now — half orchard, half kitchen garden, no longer driven for a family's income — and the rested soil still gave rich, abundant food. And the dirt: dark, deep, fertile unamended, full of everything she spends years trying to add to her Texas ground. She wanted to fill her suitcase with it. Best of all, her children walked it with her, receiving the puzzle pieces of where their mother came from — melancholy and joy braided together too tightly to pull apart. She brought home real Romanian paprika and a small handful of flat wax bean seeds, to plant the garden she came from inside the garden she's made. Then she came home — to a garden gone feral while she was gone. Spent tomatoes she pulled, a few she cut down deep to a stub that are already budding back out, peppers that came alive the moment the tomatoes cleared, and a tromboncino that had swallowed half the bed and had to be cut to almost nothing. On her knees in the Texas heat, sorting the tangle, the whole thing came together: what she saw across the ocean and what she saw in her own dirt were the same lesson. His faithfulness does not stop at any border you will ever cross. Through Acts 17, Psalm 139, Genesis 8, and Psalm 145, this is a conversation for every woman living with one foot in two worlds — two countries, two seasons, or two versions of herself — who has quietly wondered whether she left part of God behind when she left home. In this episode: * Why "seedtime and harvest shall not cease" is a promise made to the whole earth, not one country — Genesis 8:22 and Psalm 24:1, and how the God who fed you in the season you came from is not a smaller God now that you've moved on * "If I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will hold me fast" — Psalm 139:7–10, and the tender truth that you never traveled one step of your life outside His grip * Transplant shock, and the God who holds the root through the part that feels most like dying — why He guided and held you fast through every move, even when you couldn't feel it * "He marked out the boundaries of their lands… so that they would seek him and find him — though he is not far from any one of us" — Acts 17:26–27, and why every border you've crossed was arranged to send you reaching * The dark, rich dirt she couldn't carry home in a suitcase — and why she didn't need to, because the God who made that soil fertile is the same One tending the stubborn ground you're standing in now * Why your overgrown, neglected garden kept growing while you were away — "God gives the growth" — and the freedom of knowing the keeping of your life doesn't rest on your constant grip * Three formation practices: find the same soil, carry a seed home, and tend the wild that grew while you were away A breath prayer to carry with you: If I settle on the far side of the sea… even there, Your hand holds me. Take your next step: 📖 The Rooted in Grace [https://rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook] eBook [https://rootedingrace.me/rooted-in-grace-ebook] is yours, free — a gentle companion for meeting God in the real, imperfect, ordinary garden of an everyday life, wherever that garden happens to be planted. Grab it at rootedingrace.me (just an email address). 🌱 Standing in a season of re-entry — back from something, worn out, facing an overgrown life you don't know where to start with? Rooted Reset is a five-day, mostly quiet email journey to help you interrupt the urgency and let your own soul be tended, one small step at a time. Also at rootedingrace.me. 🎁 For a woman who needs reminding she is held, wherever she is — the Rooted in Grace [https://amzn.to/4efVU3D] paperback and the 30-Day Rooted in Grace Devotional [https://amzn.to/4vQgxd5] both make tender gifts. Search "Rooted in Grace" on Amazon. If this episode found a two-worlds place in you, would you leave a rating and review? It's the simplest way to help another woman find this little garden gate — and it means more than you know. And I'd love to hear from you: what season or place have you wondered whether you left part of God behind in — and where have you seen His same faithfulness meet you in the new soil? Leave a comment, share this with a friend who's living between two worlds, or simply reply and tell me where you are. I read every one.   Until then — stay rooted, and grow with grace. 🌿