May 14, 2026 | Pastor Ellen Beach

We have a fiddle leaf fig named Fiona. She's tall, she's elegant, and she's been thriving in our home for years. But recently it was time to cut back some of her branches so she could flourish even more.

As part of my Mother's Day weekend, Spencer and the girls clipped them. And instead of throwing them out, they put each branch in its own pot with fresh soil and a little vitamin water. Right now those branches look small. A little sad, honestly. They don't have roots yet. They look nothing like the towering, leafy Fiona we've enjoyed for years.

But here's what I know. With sunshine, water, and a whole lot of patience, every one of those little branches is going to grow into something stately and beautiful.

It reminds me of moving to a new city. Or starting a new job. Or planting yourself in a new church. I've done all of the above more than a few times. And every single time, I've had to remind myself of the same thing.

Roots take time to grow.

When you transplant something, there's a shock. The tree stops growing. It loses leaves. It can look like it's dying when really it's just adjusting. People are the same way. You feel disoriented. Nothing feels familiar. You start questioning whether you made the right decision.

If that's where you are right now, please hear me. Embrace your new season. You're not stagnant. You're not failing. You're a freshly planted branch, and your roots are doing quiet work under the surface that nobody can see yet.

So don't uproot yourself again. Stay planted. Wave at the neighbor checking her mailbox. Try a different coffee shop on Saturday morning, or the farmer's market you've been wanting to wander through. Show up at church even when you don't know a soul yet. It can feel scary at first, but before long you won't even remember being new.

I was at a gathering with our mayor this week, and the theme was "Plant Your Roots." She told us that when her son was little, she and her husband moved here without knowing a single person. Not one. They were starting from scratch in a brand new city, just hoping it would feel like home someday. Fast forward to now. Her son just graduated from college, and she's the mayor of this thriving city we get to call home.

I sat there thinking, only God. Only God can take a family who knew nobody and turn them into meaningful contributors to their community. Plant your roots, friend. It might feel scary right now. It might feel lonely. But you have no idea what the Lord is quietly preparing on the other side of this season.

Here's something to pray about this week. Ask the Lord, "Where are You asking me to stay planted, even when I can't see growth yet?" Then listen. He's working beneath the surface in ways you can't see.

Transplant shock is temporary. Flourishing is on the way.

If you're new to Building, come find me this Sunday. I'd love to meet you and help you put down roots right here with us.

See you Sunday.

— Pastor Ellen