“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1

I’ve never been someone who loves change. People often say, “Change is good,” as though those three words should make letting go easier. They don’t. Because sometimes what we’re asked to release isn’t bad. Sometimes it’s familiar. Sometimes it’s comfortable enough. Sometimes it’s the version of life we’ve learned to survive. And survival has a funny way of convincing us it’s the same thing as living.

Lately I’ve realized that my hands have been gripping tightly—not because everything I’m holding is wonderful, but because it is known. There is safety in the familiar, even when the familiar no longer fits the person God is shaping me to become. I think about the paintings I’ve been working on. There have been moments when I knew a section wasn’t right, but I hesitated to paint over it. What if I ruined it? What if the next layer wasn’t as beautiful? Yet every time I found the courage to add another stroke, deepen a shadow, or completely repaint an area, the painting became more honest than it was before. Life feels like that right now.

Radiant in Bloom is changing. My artwork is changing. My writing is changing. My children are growing. My dreams are becoming clearer. Even my prayers are changing. And if I’m being truthful, some of those changes scare me. Because with every new beginning comes another goodbye. I’ve spent so much of my life asking God to bless what I already had that I never considered He might answer by asking me to loosen my grip. Not because He wants to leave me empty-handed. But because closed fists can’t receive new gifts.

That realization has been both comforting and heartbreaking. There are people I have to release with love. Expectations I have to bury. Versions of myself that carried me through difficult seasons but are no longer meant to lead me into the next one. And perhaps that’s the hardest part of becoming. Not learning something new. But saying thank you to what got you here…and letting it go anyway.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a season for everything. A time to plant. A time to uproot. A time to weep. A time to laugh. A time to embrace. And yes… A time to let go. The older I get, the more I believe that God doesn’t waste seasons. Even the painful ones prepared me for the next chapter. The disappointments deepened my compassion. The waiting strengthened my faith. The unanswered prayers taught me to recognize God’s presence even when I couldn’t understand His plans. I still don’t know exactly what this next season will look like. But I know this: I don’t want fear to keep me clinging to what God has already outgrown. I want the courage to open my hands. To trust that the God who has carried me this far knows what belongs in my future better than I do. Maybe change isn’t the enemy I’ve made it out to be. Maybe it is simply God’s gentle invitation to stop living from what was and begin receiving what could be.

So today, I’m praying for open hands. Not because letting go is easy. But because I believe the One asking me to release something is also preparing me to receive something I couldn’t hold while my hands were full. And perhaps that is what faith looks like. Not having all the answers. Just trusting the Gardener when He says it’s time to prune, believing He has already envisioned the bloom.