Learning to Wait…Even When Everything's Ready.

Everything is ready.
The trays are full. The seedlings are tall, leafy, and practically begging for fresh air and real sunshine. The garden are prepped, compost is worked in, and new fences are up.

And still… I wait.

It’s the last day of March, and while the calendar says it should be time, the weather has other ideas. The nights have been too cool. The wind a little too sharp. And even though the sun warms the afternoons just enough to make me believe we’ve turned a corner, the chill that settles back in after dark reminds me: not yet.

And oh, it’s hard.
My patience is being challenged at every turn.

I want to rush it. I want to get these plants in the ground. I want to feel the sun on my back while I work the rows and watch the garden begin to fill in. I want that satisfying level tiredness that only comes from real, honest work outside. But for now, I’m still under the grow lights, still moving trays in and out, still holding my breath at every unexpected dip in temperature.

This is where the real work begins. Not in the digging or the planting, but in the waiting.
In choosing to not move forward even though everything feels ready.

It’s one thing to be prepared. It’s another to have the discipline to wait for the right moment.

Nature has no interest in my timeline. She’s not rushing for anyone. And every year she humbles me a little more. She reminds me that all the planning in the world doesn’t replace wisdom and sometimes wisdom looks like standing still.

It’s a strange kind of tension, this season. So full of life, so full of potential, and yet... still held in the quiet. I look at my plants and see how far they’ve come, how strong they’ve gotten. They’re ready…and just like children about to step into the world, they need the right conditions to thrive.

And maybe I do, too.

Because let’s be honest—this isn’t just about plants. This is about learning to trust timing. It’s about managing the stories I tell myself when things don’t go exactly when I hoped they would. It’s about choosing faith over frustration.

Every seedling under my grow lights is teaching me something right now. That growth can be vibrant, even in waiting. That conditions matter. That rushing can undo months of care.

And most of all—that patience isn’t passive. It’s a kind of strength. It’s being deeply engaged in the present moment, even when everything in you is reaching toward the future.

The truth is, this lesson shows up far beyond the garden.
It’s there when we’re waiting for answers that haven’t arrived yet.
It’s in the pause between sending a job application and hearing back.
It’s in parenting, in relationships, in healing.
It’s all those moments when we feel ready to move forward—but life says, not just yet.

And just like in the garden, the challenge is to stay steady. To care for what’s here now. To trust that just because we can’t rush something doesn’t mean nothing is happening. So much is happening beneath the surface.

So here I am, wrapping up March, still waiting. Still checking the forecast. Still feeling that hum of excitement in my chest every time I walk past the garden beds. And still reminding myself: slow down. The ground will warm. The time will come. And when it does, I AM READY. Not just in the garden…in my spirit too.

Until then, I’ll keep taking care of the plants. And maybe tend my own heart a little while I’m at it.

Because the garden will always be there to teach me—especially about the things I didn’t know I still needed to learn.

Many blessings,
Kim