We’ve walked through letting go, facing the bare places, and trusting God with our brokenness. But what about when restoration feels far away? When you’ve prayed, planted, and persevered, and still see no fruit?
That’s when Galatians 6:9 whispers hope: “at the proper time, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” God’s timing doesn’t always match ours, but His promises are certain.
“I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten…” — Joel 2:25
Joel 2:25 is one of the most hope-filled verses in Scripture: “I will restore to you the years the locusts have eaten.” Those wasted years, lost opportunities, and broken seasons? God promises to redeem them. He doesn’t just give back what was taken. He multiplies it, making it even richer in His timing.
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9
Here in Louisiana, we know that sugarcane harvest doesn’t come overnight. Farmers wait through long months of heat, rain, and storms before the sweetness is ready. The fields don’t look promising at first, but come harvest, what’s been growing unseen becomes evident.
God’s promises are like that sugarcane. They ripen in His season, not ours. And when they do, the harvest is worth the wait.
Take time this week to write down areas where you’re still waiting for a “harvest.” Maybe it’s a prayer that hasn’t been answered or a hope that feels long delayed.
Next to each one, write this declaration: “God restores. His timing is perfect. I will not give up.”
Friend, the waiting is not wasted. The bare seasons, the broken places, the quiet prayers—they are all part of the process.
Trust the God who restores.
Believe that His timing is perfect.
Hold onto hope, because the harvest is coming.
Don’t give up. Your story isn’t over—it’s ripening.
Blessings,
Liz
Life has a way of breaking us, through loss, disappointment, betrayal, or dreams that never came to pass. And when we’re holding the fragments, it’s tempting to believe the story is over.
But Scripture reminds us that brokenness is not the end, it’s the place where God’s power shines the brightest. Like jars of clay, our cracks and flaws are not shameful; they’re where the light of Christ pours through.
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” — 2 Corinthians 4:7–9
What looks like wasted seasons to us are often seeds of testimony to God. The pain you walked through? The struggle you thought would break you? Those become the very stories that speak life into someone else’s dark season.
Romans 8:28 assures us: all things, even the shattered ones, can be worked together for good. Nothing is wasted in God’s hands.
Here in Louisiana, we know how to make something beautiful out of what’s leftover. Gumbo is born from scraps, bits and pieces tossed in a pot that, on their own, may not look like much. But slow-cooked together, they create something rich, filling, and unforgettable.
Your life is a lot like that pot of gumbo. What feels like scraps, God stirs together into a masterpiece that nourishes more than just you, it blesses everyone around you.
Write down one area of your life where you feel “broken” or “wasted.” Bring it before God in prayer. Ask Him: “How can You use even this?”
Then, look for one small way to share your story, whether it’s encouraging a friend, journaling for yourself, or simply choosing to trust that God is at work in the unseen.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” — Romans 8:28
Your brokenness doesn’t disqualify you, it positions you. The cracks in your story aren’t signs of failure, they’re the very places where God’s power shines through.
Just like gumbo, your life may not look perfect in the process, but when God is the one stirring, nothing is wasted.
So hold on, friend. Broken, but not wasted. Bruised, but not abandoned. In His hands, you are being rebuilt into something beautiful.
Blessings,
Liz
Some seasons leave us feeling exposed. Dreams fall through. Relationships end. Prayers seem unanswered. The branches of our lives stand bare, and we wonder if anything will grow again.
But emptiness is not abandonment. Scripture reminds us that God is close to the brokenhearted. The absence of fruit doesn’t mean the absence of God.
“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.” — Habakkuk 3:17–18
Habakkuk’s words remind us that joy isn’t rooted in circumstances, it’s rooted in God Himself. Even when the fields were empty and the barns were bare, he chose joy in the God who never changes.
Choosing joy when life feels empty doesn’t mean pretending things are fine. It means saying: “Even here, I will trust. Even here, God is still good.”
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
Here in South Louisiana, we know what it’s like when storms strip life bare. After hurricanes, streets are littered with debris, homes stand empty, and it feels like everything is lost.
But slowly, beauty rises again. Neighbors help neighbors. Families rebuild. Gardens sprout from broken ground. What looks bare is often just the beginning of restoration.
This week, take 15 minutes to name your “bare places.” Write down the areas of your life that feel empty, broken, or stripped away. Then, pray over each one, inviting God into the emptiness.
Pray this simple prayer:
“Lord, meet me here. Even in the bare places, I will trust You. Help me see signs of Your presence.”
Friend, bare doesn’t mean barren.
When life feels stripped down to nothing, God is planting something unseen. He is close to the brokenhearted, near to the weary, and faithful to restore what feels lost.
Hold on to hope. The empty places are not the end of your story, they are the soil where God’s new work begins.
Blessings,
Liz
Fall is the season when trees let go. Leaves fall, branches grow bare, and the air carries a different stillness. From the outside, it may look like loss. But in God’s design, letting go is what makes room for new life.
In our lives, letting go often feels the same way. We cling tightly to plans, people, or seasons we thought would last forever. And when they fall away, it can feel like failure or grief. Yet God whispers: This isn’t the end, it’s the beginning of renewal.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1
Leaves don’t fall because the tree is dying. They fall because the tree is preparing to survive and grow stronger in the next season.
Maybe God is asking you to release something:
An expectation that’s been weighing you down.
A relationship or role that’s no longer bearing fruit.
A version of yourself you’ve outgrown.
Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. It means trusting the Gardener’s hands to prepare you for what’s next.
Here in South Louisiana, we know that harvest season means clearing fields before planting again. Sugarcane is cut down before new growth begins. Old stalks are burned to prepare the soil for what’s to come.
The land looks empty for a time, but it’s not wasted, it’s waiting.
Your life may feel the same. God may be clearing space so something richer can grow.
“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” — John 12:24
Take 10 quiet minutes and ask God: “What do You want me to release this season?”
Write down anything that comes to mind—burdens, fears, habits, or expectations.
Then, say a simple prayer of release: “Lord, I place this in Your hands. Help me trust Your timing.”
Just like the trees don’t cling to their leaves, you don’t have to cling to everything you’ve been carrying.
Letting go is not losing—it’s leaning into God’s promise that He makes all things new.
This season, may we see the beauty in falling leaves and find the courage to release what no longer serves us. Because when things fall apart, God is already planting what will rise again.
Blessings,
Liz