Last summer, I dipped my toes into the world of gardening, hoping my non-existent green thumb could pull off a feat with chocolate habaneros. As a foodie, the prospect of homegrown peppers was a game-changer. Armed with four pepper plants and a new planter for my backyard, I embarked on a journey of growth and patience. 

Each morning I’d step outside feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation, hoping to spot the first signs of peppers. But there was nothing — no growth, no change. My eagerness clashed with the slow pace of nature. I longed for visible progress, a heightening of the plants, more leaves — something to validate my efforts. Disappointed, I started to lose the initial zeal that fueled my early-morning visits with the watering can. Eventually, I almost forgot they were there.

This echoes a pattern in my life, where passion and zeal gradually leaked away. The flashes of my envisioned self lingered in my journals, but the tangible fruition was absent. Despite investing in education, professional development, and coaching, and seeking mentorship, the vision remained elusive. Like the habaneros, I’ve witnessed flowers of purpose only to see them dry out after a stretch of thriving.

Then came the reminder of those neglected habanero plants. I hadn’t visited the planter for a while, expecting the worst. To my surprise, the plants looked the same, but there, almost hidden amidst the leaves, were one, two, three peppers. The flowers I thought had withered had birthed fruit.

In life, the persistent question of “When?” often forces purpose walkers into premature retirement. The waiting game feels like an endless expanse where every step forward is met with the echo of, “Girl, just move on.” Unwatered “Whens” silently drain our joy, focus, and fruitfulness. So, I urge you: water your “When.” Nourish it with daily doses of speaking well of the queen you are, and sprinkle it with your grace and endurance. Live and speak in a manner unburdened by the weight of “When?” but aligned with the promise of when it happens.

The disappointment I felt waiting for my habaneros nearly caused me to overlook the peppers. Sometimes the most active thing you can do is wait. 

As the daughter of immigrant parents, I found myself ensconced in the rich tapestry of wisdom woven into the sunny shores of Jamaica. Their admonishments, delivered with a unique cadence, carried profound meaning encapsulated in sayings that now, in adulthood, reveal layers of insight. One particular adage has resonated deeply within me: “Shortcuts draw blood.” This cautionary phrase originates from a collective understanding of the perils awaiting those who dare to forsake the safety of established paths. 

Picture it: A weary soul, having navigated the challenges of a full day — be it the rigors of school or negotiating beneath the scorching sun at the roadside market — decides to deviate from the well-trodden path. In an attempt to expedite the journey home, they venture into an unfamiliar field, hoping to outpace their fellow traveler. Yet, this shortcut, though potentially shaving minutes off the commute, comes at a cost. The dense, unexplored terrain extracts its toll, leaving behind scraped legs and punctured toes.  

As you absorb these words, memories likely stir within you — recollections of thwarted attempts to hasten the arrival at your envisioned destination. Whether the toll extracted was literal bloodshed or tears, you’ve become a living, walking proverb, a testament to the profound lesson of waiting wisely. You embody the intricate dance of patience, a sage versed in the art of discerning when to tread established paths and when to forge new ones, mindful of the potential hazards that may lie ahead. In the grand narrative of your life, you are the author, writing chapters imbued with the wisdom gleaned from experiences that unfolded in due time, a testament to the enduring truth that shortcuts, indeed, draw blood. 

In the vibrant tapestry of life, dreams and visions may take longer than expected to blossom, but the process is never void of purpose. So, dear sister, tend to your dreams like a garden. Water them with faith, sprinkle them with patience, and watch as the fruit of your purpose begins to emerge in due season.

In the realm of God’s promises, the answer to “When?” is always “In due time.” Trust the process, water your dreams, and prepare for the sweet harvest ahead.