The bulbs we planted last year have finally leafed out, and I can see hints of what’s to come. My lilacs have tight little buds, and the cherry blossoms—after months of dormancy—are just now showing signs of life. It’s quiet, but color is peeking through more every day.
In the counseling field, human flourishing is something we often study and talk about. But flourishing doesn’t look the same for everyone.
Each person grows and heals in their own way, at their own pace, in their own environment.
People are like flowers in a garden—each one designed with different needs and environments.
Some of us thrive in full sun—bright, busy, and outward-facing lives. Others grow best in the quiet shelter of shade, in stillness and subtle beauty. Some are nourished by rich, structured soil—stable routines, clear boundaries. Others need looser soil, more room to stretch and adapt. Some can go long without tending, while others require frequent watering, extra care, or unique nutrients to truly bloom.
What brings life to one might deplete another. That’s not dysfunction—it’s design.
And just like flowers, we bloom in different ways and on different timelines. Some of us blossom early and often, producing many blooms throughout the years—rich, full, and ever-unfolding. Others may bloom once, maybe twice. Their time may seem short. But their beauty is no less breathtaking, no less complete.
A wildflower’s brief blossom is not a failure to flourish. It is simply flourishing in the way it was created to.
Sometimes, though, just as blooms begin to unfold, a late spring snowstorm moves in—unexpected, cold, and cruel to our eyes. The blossom is cut short. The life, the joy, the promise—it seems lost. But that snowstorm, too, is from the Lord.
The Gardener sees what we cannot. He holds the mystery of the seasons, and He knows the weight of every fallen petal.
In the beginning, God planted a garden. He spoke trees and flowers and seeds into being. And when He looked at what He had made—even the delicate things, even the fleeting things—He saw that it was good.
Healing, too, must be approached gently. One person may find life in a certain therapeutic method, while another may not. What comforts one may feel hollow—or even harmful—to another. That doesn’t make one right and the other wrong. It simply reveals the creativity of the Gardener.
We are fearfully and wonderfully made. And just as a wise gardener studies the needs of each plant, so must we learn to see each other—and ourselves—with that kind of sacred attentiveness.
Healing is not one-size-fits-all. Flourishing doesn’t come in a single form.
And life, no matter how long or short, is always a gift in bloom.
Until next time,
Just one flower in God's garden.
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