Hope That Grows Back Stubborn

I planted a flower garden years ago, not knowing how much it would teach me about grief. Every summer it explodes—wave after wave of color, perennials pushing through hard soil, annuals blooming despite late frosts. Neighbors stop their cars to say, “It looks like a magazine!” But I know the truth: it’s stubborn. It grows back even after harsh winters, dry spells, and being trampled.

Grief is like that too. Hope doesn’t always arrive quickly or gently. It grows back stubborn—through tears, through long nights, through questions that have no answers this side of heaven.

Jesus knows that kind of stubborn hope. He planted Himself in the darkest soil—death itself—and rose again. Because He lives, we can too. Not perfectly, not without pain, but with a hope that refuses to stay buried. “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23).

New.

Every single morning.

Even when yesterday felt hopeless.

If hope feels buried in your heart today, know this: it’s not gone forever. It’s waiting to grow back—stubborn, resilient, rooted in Christ who conquered death. You don’t have to force it. Just keep turning toward Him, one small moment at a time.

I’m here to sit with you while it grows. No rush. No judgment. Just gentle company in the waiting.

Resting in His new mercies with you,

Julie