“Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how.”
—Mark 4:27
Reflection
I have never been especially fond of slow.
I can wait when I know exactly how long the wait will be. Give me a tracking number, a delivery date, and something I can refresh fourteen times a day, and apparently I can be very patient.
It is the waiting without visible movement that gets to me.
Lately, building Abide & Dwell has looked far less impressive than the vision I carry for it.
It has looked like unanswered questions, mockups that have not arrived, products that still need decisions, printing problems, expenses, and work that takes longer than I thought it would.
Some days, I can clearly see where I believe God is leading.
Other days, I look at what is actually sitting in front of me and wonder whether I have done enough—or whether any of it is moving at all.
I begin measuring.
How much have I completed?
How many people have noticed?
Shouldn’t I be farther by now?
We ask those questions about far more than work. We ask them about healing, relationships, parenting, prayer, purpose, and the parts of ourselves we thought would have changed by now.
We compare the small thing in our hands to the finished thing someone else is holding.
Then we quietly decide ours must not matter.
But Jesus repeatedly used seeds to explain the kingdom of God.
In Mark 4, He describes a man scattering seed on the ground. The farmer sleeps and rises, night after night and day after day, while the seed sprouts and grows.
Then Scripture includes four words I cannot stop thinking about:
“Though he does not know how.”
The farmer knows he planted the seed. He knows what he hopes it will eventually produce.
What he cannot see is everything happening between the planting and the harvest.
He cannot command the seed to open.
He cannot shame it into growing faster.
He plants. He tends. He waits.
And while he is doing ordinary things—even while he is sleeping—growth is taking place beyond what he can see or control.
I wonder how often we disturb our own peace because we keep digging up what we planted, looking for proof that it is growing.
We pray, then immediately begin checking.
We obey, then begin measuring.
We take one faithful step, then become discouraged because it did not produce the entire harvest by Friday.
We keep disturbing the soil because hidden growth feels too much like no growth.
But hidden does not mean inactive.
Roots are not impressive. No one applauds them while they push quietly through dark soil.
Yet everything that will eventually stand above the ground depends on what first developed beneath it.
God builds endurance before influence. He strengthens character before increasing responsibility. He teaches us to remain faithful when obedience feels ordinary and the results are too small to impress anyone.
That hidden work matters because the person who receives the harvest must have the roots to carry it.
Zechariah 4:10 asks:
“Who dares despise the day of small things?”
—Zechariah 4:10 (NIV)
I used to hear that verse only as encouragement: Do not give up because you are beginning small.
Now I hear a warning inside it too.
Do not despise what God is willing to use simply because it does not yet look important to you.
We despise small beginnings when we withhold gratitude until there is more—when we treat one faithful step as meaningless because it did not complete the entire journey.
We become embarrassed by the seed because we wanted to show everyone a field.
But the kingdom of God has never been embarrassed by smallness.
Jesus entered the world as an infant. He grew within an ordinary family in a town people underestimated. Most of His earthly life passed outside public attention, yet those were not wasted years.
He spoke of seeds, yeast, lamps, children, cups of water, and a widow’s small offering.
He showed us that heaven does not measure significance the way we do.
Even the cross appeared to be an ending—one condemned man outside a city, surrounded by people who believed His work had failed.
But God was accomplishing redemption.
What looked finished was waiting for resurrection.
Waiting, however, is not permission to ignore the work.
The farmer scattered the seed. He tended what had been entrusted to him. When the harvest came, he acted again.
Faithfulness still has a next step.
There is an email to send.
A decision to make.
A conversation to have.
A paragraph to write.
A prayer to pray again.
Our exhaustion begins when we take responsibility for the next step, the mysterious growth, the timing, the outcome, and the entire harvest all at once.
Some of that was never ours to carry.
My responsibility is to be faithful with what God has placed in my hands today.
I can complete the work in front of me. I can keep returning to God when comparison tells me the work is too small and fear tells me it is taking too long.
Then I have to leave room for Him to be God.
I cannot manufacture in one frantic afternoon what God intends to grow through daily obedience.
I cannot keep calling something insignificant simply because it is unfinished.
Maybe you are holding something small today.
One idea.
One customer.
One restored conversation.
One prayer you have prayed so many times that you are beginning to feel foolish for continuing.
One quiet act of obedience no one else knows about.
Do not insult the seed because it is not yet a field.
If God has asked you to plant it, tend it faithfully.
If He gives you a step to take, take it without demanding that today’s obedience prove the entire future.
And when nothing appears to be happening, remember the soil.
Remember the roots.
Remember the farmer who slept while growth continued beyond his understanding.
Small is not insignificant.
Slow is not forgotten.
The God who sees the harvest also sees the seed—and He has never lost sight of what He is growing.
A Prayer
Father,
You know how quickly I begin measuring when I cannot see progress. You know the places where I have mistaken smallness for insignificance and slowness for Your absence.
Forgive me for despising the beginnings You have entrusted to me.
Teach me to tend what is mine without trying to control what belongs to You. Protect me from passivity disguised as waiting and panic disguised as productivity.
Give me wisdom for the next step, patience for the hidden season, and faith to believe You are still working when I cannot see how.
Strengthen my roots before You increase what they must carry. Keep Christ front and center when comparison, fear, or disappointment makes me question the value of ordinary obedience.
Help me honor the seed, remain faithful in the process, and trust You with the harvest.
In Jesus’ name, amen.
To Dwell On This Week
Where have I been treating a small beginning or slow progress as evidence that nothing meaningful is happening?
What is the next faithful step God has placed in front of me—and what part of the outcome do I need to release into His hands?
The Daily Return
Pause: Name the place where slow progress has begun to feel like silence.
Praise: Thank God for the work He accomplishes beyond what you can see.
Pray: Ask Him to show you the next faithful step without demanding the whole plan.
Proceed: Complete that one step, then leave the seed in God’s care.
Come and See
Each week we’ll open God’s Word together, learning what it means to abide in Christ and dwell in His peace. If today’s reflection encouraged you, I’d love for you to come back next week as we continue dwelling in His Word.
May you dwell in Him.
—Rhonda, Abide & Dwell