Grief......

Grief comes in so many forms.

We grieve the loss of someone who has passed away, a friendship that ends, family discord, a pet, a job, past mistakes—and sometimes, we grieve a relationship that hasn’t necessarily ended at all, but has changed in a way we never wanted or expected.

Recently, I had my own grieving episode. It started with one thing, but somehow that one thing opened the door to everything else I had been carrying. Before I knew it, I was standing in a much larger mound of grief that needed to be released through tears and prayer.

Thankfully, my husband was there. He listened. He let me talk, cry, and process without needing to fix it. Sometimes, that is exactly what we need.

This past year has held so much joy and celebration, but also so much grief. There have been moments when I felt strong and moments when I felt incredibly weak. Sometimes I was the one offering support, and other times I was the one who desperately needed it. There were changes, hard decisions, boundaries, tears—and an astronomical amount of grief.

Then, just a couple of days ago, something happened with one of my plants that stopped me in my tracks.

I was watering my plants and, as usual, made a bit of a mess. I started moving them around to wipe up the water and clean the shelf. I figured I might as well use the opportunity to give everything a little attention. :) When I moved one particular plant, it fell right out of its pot. The plant was small, with one or two thin, wimpy-looking vines and tiny spotted leaves that are very unique. But when it fell, it broke off at the base right next to the dirt—leaving the roots behind.

At first, I thought, Well, this happens with plants sometimes.But then I looked closer.

I had owned this plant for more than two years. It was still in the original plastic pot from the store, sitting inside a little elephant-shaped coffee cup that had been given to me by someone very close to me—someone who means the world to me actually.

The plants original plastic cup never really fit properly in the elephant cup, but it seemed to thrive, so I left it there. I never repotted it. I probably should have.

When I pulled the plastic pot out of the elephant cup, I saw that the roots had completely filled the space between the plastic pot and the bottom of the elephant cup. The roots were all still there, wound tightly together, almost forming a ball. The plant had grown but than stunted because of the space it was in with little soil to assist with security and growth.

It had simply outgrown the place where I had kept it.And somehow, I couldn't stop thinking about that. The plant had broken away from its roots, but the roots weren't destroyed. They were still there. The connection hadn't simply disappeared. Something had changed.

My mother-in-law told me to put the broken piece from the top, that had all the beautiful leaves in water, so that's what I'm doing. I'm hoping I can save it because I really do love this little plant and now it has even more meaning to me.

And maybe that's why this tiny, seemingly insignificant moment felt so significant to me.

It reminded me of a relationship.Not necessarily a relationship that is broken forever, but one that may be growing into something different. Something that has become too confined by the way it once existed.

Sometimes growth doesn't look like staying.Sometimes it looks like breaking away.And sometimes the roots remain.

That is where my grief has been.

There is a relationship in my life that I continue to grieve—not because I don't care, but because I do. The pain that comes with setting boundaries and learning to respect yourself can be incredibly heavy, especially when doing what you believe is necessary makes you feel like the villain in someone else's story.

That's a hard place to stand.

You can love someone and still need boundaries.

You can pray for restoration and still accept that you cannot force it.

You can grieve what was, while leaving room for God to decide what comes next.

So I grieve. I cry. I pray. I surrender what I cannot control.

And maybe that's what grief asks us to do sometimes: feel it, release it, and trust that there is another side.

I don't know what will happen with that little plant. Maybe it will grow new roots. Maybe it will survive in a completely different way than it did before.

But I know this: Just because something breaks away doesn't mean the roots never mattered. And just because a relationship changes doesn't mean the love wasn't real.

Sometimes we have to let go of what something was in order to make room for what it might become.

And in the meantime, we pray. We hope. We heal.

And we trust God with the roots.