The Roots I Honor and the Branches I Let Go

My grandmother kept a garden that made no economic sense. She would kneel in the dark soil and speak to things that had not yet appeared above the surface.

I honor those roots. They taught me that faith is mostly a practice of waiting well.

“Gratitude for the root, and grace for the branch that must grow away from it.”

But not everything handed down was a gift. Some of it was fear dressed as tradition. Some of it was smallness spoken with authority. Those branches I let go — carefully, respectfully, and without waiting for applause.