I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what happens to us.
I’m becoming increasingly interested in what happens within us because of it.
Life gives us experiences we didn’t necessarily ask for.
Some are beautiful.
Some are disappointing.
Some change us in ways we don’t recognize until much later.
And I’ve started wondering:
What is this experience cultivating in me?
Because I’ve learned that difficult experiences can leave more behind than memories.
They can change what we expect.
How we respond.
What we believe about people.
What we believe about ourselves.
And if I’m not paying attention, something that happened to me can quietly begin determining how I approach everything that comes after it.
I Don’t Want My Heart to Become Jaded
I’ve thought about this throughout different parts of my life.
Even in my career as an auditor, I’ve never wanted years of looking for errors, weaknesses, noncompliance, and potential fraud to make me assume everyone is dishonest.
My job requires skepticism.
It requires evidence.
It requires me to ask questions and examine whether what’s being presented is accurate.
Those skills are useful.
But I don’t want professional skepticism to become personal cynicism.
I’ve felt similarly after disappointment in relationships.
Pain can teach you things.
It can reveal where you need stronger boundaries.
It can show you behaviors you shouldn’t ignore next time.
It can make you more discerning.
All of that can be valuable.
But I don’t want someone else’s choices to convince me that connection itself is unsafe.
I don’t want disappointment to become expectation.
I don’t want discernment to become suspicion.
I don’t want wisdom to require hardness.
I don’t want my heart to become jaded.
What Am I Watering?
That’s where intentionality has become increasingly important to me.
I can’t control everything that gets planted through experience.
But I can become more intentional about what I continue watering.
If something hurts me, I can acknowledge that.
If I’m angry, disappointed, afraid, or grieving, I don’t need to pretend otherwise.
I’ve learned to pay attention to my emotions because they give me information.
Something affected me.
Something matters here.
Something may need my attention.
But after I listen, I also get to decide what happens next.
What am I rehearsing?
What am I reinforcing?
What am I allowing to occupy my attention?
What conclusion am I drawing from this experience?
Because there’s a difference between:
This happened to me.
and
This is how life will always be.
There’s a difference between:
This person hurt me.
and
People cannot be trusted.
There’s a difference between:
I’m disappointed by what happened.
and
There’s nothing left for me to be grateful for.
I’ve had to learn those distinctions.
I’m still learning them.
Both Belong
For a long time, I struggled when two things seemed to contradict each other.
If I knew something intellectually but felt something different emotionally, I wanted to figure out which one was right.
If something painful happened during a season that also contained something beautiful, I could feel almost obligated to decide what kind of season it was.
Good or bad?
Grateful or disappointed?
Joyful or grieving?
But life doesn’t always organize itself into those neat categories.
Sometimes I’m grieving something I desperately wish were different.
And something else in my life is worthy of gratitude.
Both belong.
I can miss someone I love and be grateful for the time I had with them.
I can be disappointed and still recognize something beautiful happening around me.
I can acknowledge how badly something hurt and appreciate what it taught me.
I can establish boundaries and remain open to healthy connection.
I can become wiser without becoming harder.
One truth doesn’t always require the destruction of another.
That’s been freeing for me.
Joy Requires My Attention Too
I’ve become particularly aware of this after experiencing seasons when difficulty seemed relentless.
When one thing happens after another, pain can become incredibly easy to notice.
You don’t have to search for it.
It’s right there.
Joy can require more attention.
Not because it isn’t real.
But because sometimes it’s quieter than whatever is demanding our energy.
I’ve had to intentionally notice the things that make me smile.
A conversation where I feel understood.
Time with someone I love.
A beautiful view.
An answered prayer.
A moment when I realize I’ve handled something differently than I once would have.
The relief of finally asking for help.
A ridiculous joke that makes me laugh much harder than the situation warrants. 😆
Those things don’t erase what’s difficult.
They’re part of my life too.
I don’t want pain to become so loud that I stop noticing everything else the Most High has allowed me to experience.
For me, gratitude isn’t pretending everything is good.
It’s refusing to let what hurts become the only thing I’m capable of seeing.
What I Want to Grow
So I’m becoming more deliberate about what I want to cultivate.
I want wisdom that still leaves room for curiosity.
Discernment that doesn’t require cynicism.
Boundaries that protect healthy connection rather than prevent it.
Gratitude that can coexist with grief.
Courage that doesn’t require fear to disappear.
Faith that makes room for questions.
And a heart that remains capable of experiencing joy even after it has known disappointment.
I’m not going to accomplish that by pretending difficult experiences haven’t affected me.
They have.
Some deeply.
But acknowledging their impact doesn’t mean giving them unlimited authority over who I become.
I still get to participate in that process.
And when I notice something growing in me that I don’t want to nurture?
I can pay attention.
I can examine it.
I can ask what happened.
I can pray.
I can seek help when I need it.
I can make a different choice.
And, as many times as necessary, I can return.
Sacred Soil Reflection
Think about a difficult experience you’ve been carrying.
Instead of asking only:
Why did this happen to me?
consider asking:
What has this been cultivating in me?
Has disappointment become expectation?
Has caution become avoidance?
Has discernment become suspicion?
Has one person’s criticism become the way you speak to yourself?
Or perhaps something beautiful has been growing too.
Greater compassion.
Wisdom.
Patience.
Stronger boundaries.
A deeper appreciation for people who show up consistently.
More willingness to ask for help.
Greater awareness of what actually matters to you.
You don’t have to force a positive lesson out of everything you’ve experienced.
Some things simply hurt.
But you can become curious about what you’re carrying forward.
Then ask:
What do I want to continue nurturing from here?
Scripture for the Soil
“Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.”
— Proverbs 4:23
I’ve often heard that verse discussed in terms of protecting the heart.
I’m also learning to think about tending it.
Paying attention to what’s entering.
Noticing what’s taking root.
Being mindful of what I’m repeatedly feeding with my attention.
And recognizing when something needs care.
Guarding my heart doesn’t have to mean closing it.
Sometimes it means being intentional about what I allow to grow there.
Carry This With You
Life will plant things I didn’t choose.
Experiences will affect me.
People will affect me.
Loss will affect me.
Love will affect me too.
So will friendship.
Kindness.
Rest.
Laughter.
Faith.
Community.
The people who remind me who I am when I’ve temporarily forgotten.
The moments that remind me the Most High is near when circumstances make Him feel far away.
Both belong.
I don’t control every seed that reaches the soil.
But I can pay attention to what takes root.
I can decide what deserves tending.
I can stop watering something simply because it has been growing there for a long time.
Familiarity isn’t proof that something belongs.
And maybe flourishing faithfully isn’t about reaching some permanent state where everything within me is finally healthy, healed, and perfectly aligned.
Maybe part of flourishing is continuing to tend what the Most High has entrusted to me.
Learning.
Pruning.
Nurturing.
Returning.
And periodically asking myself one very important question:
What am I cultivating here?
