Deep Roots In Dark Soil
Growing In The Fruits Of The Spirit
We often imagine growth as something vibrant, visible—lush green leaves stretching toward the sun, fruit hanging heavy on the branch, a life in bloom. But real growth, the kind the Spirit cultivates in us, is quieter than that. Slower. Sometimes painfully so. It happens beneath the surface, in the soil of our everyday struggles, our waiting, our wildernesses.
The fruit of the Spirit isn’t something we pluck from the vine overnight. It’s something grown in us—season by season, storm by storm. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—these are not goals to chase, but evidence of something deeper: a life tethered to the Spirit of God.
The Apostle Paul reminds us in Galatians 5:22–23 (NLT),
“But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”
It’s not by our effort, not by our striving, but by abiding. By remaining in Him through the dark nights, the mundane routines, the lonely prayers. It is slow work. But it is holy work.
There is something sacred about the seasons when nothing seems to be happening. When we feel buried rather than planted. These moments are not dead ends. They are the hidden spaces where roots grow deep, where the Spirit tills the ground of our hearts in silence.
Kristin Elizabeth Couch puts it this way:
“The most fruitful seasons in my life have not been the most exciting ones. They’ve been the ones where I had no choice but to sit still and let God do the work.”
And isn’t that true? The fruit of patience isn’t grown in days of ease—it’s grown when answers don’t come. The fruit of love isn’t perfected in comfort but in choosing to forgive, again and again. Joy? It’s the defiant kind that blossoms in sorrow. Peace? It anchors us not when life is calm, but when everything is falling apart.
These are not qualities we master by reading a book or willing them into existence. They are cultivated. Slowly. Carefully. Deeply.
“The Spirit grows fruit not despite the hard seasons of life, but through them. Our valleys are not dead ends. They are vineyards.”
—Christopher J. H. Wright
I don’t know what season you’re in. Maybe it’s a season of quiet disappointment, where your prayers feel unanswered and your efforts unseen. Maybe it’s a time of restlessness, when you’re desperate for direction. Maybe you feel like nothing is happening, like your spiritual life is stuck.
But what if something is happening—beneath the surface, beyond your understanding?
What if this is the exact place where the Spirit is doing His deepest work?
Jesus says in John 15:5 (NLT),
“Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit.”
Not might. Will. The fruit will come, not because we force it, but because we stay close.So let’s take a deep breath and let go of the need to be in control of the timeline. Let’s resist the pressure to perform spiritual maturity. Let’s stop measuring growth by outward appearances. Because the Spirit is not interested in speed. He is interested in depth.
“Deep spiritual fruit is never the result of hurried faith. It’s the product of slow, obedient trust.”
—Kristin Elizabeth Couch
In the weeks to come, we’ll reflect on each fruit of the Spirit one by one—not as virtues to pursue, but as invitations to yield. To let the Spirit do what only He can do. To surrender the soil of our hearts, whether dry or drenched, and believe that He is cultivating something good.
Something lasting. Something holy.
We’ll reflect on:
—Love that endures heartbreak and betrayal.
—Joy that bubbles up even when circumstances scream otherwise.
—Peace that holds us steady in a storm.
—Patience that learns to wait without despair.
—Kindness that survives fatigue and apathy.
—Goodness that resists cynicism in a broken world.
—Faithfulness that remains steadfast through spiritual droughts.
—Gentleness that thrives in grief and humility.
—Self-control that emerges in hidden, daily battles.
These are not impossible ideals. They are promises. Evidence of the Spirit's work in the hidden places.
Even here.
Even now.
Even in the dark.