“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.” – Proverbs 13:12

Trees have always carried a certain significance for our family.

We used Crepe Myrtles to decorate our indoor wedding, and instead of handing out bubbles or candy, we gave mini potted tree seeds as favors. A symbol of growth, of roots, of something that could last.

Beyond just that one day, Kyle and I have felt like the Lord has specifically called our family to be “seed planters.” That’s taken on different forms in different seasons—church planting, living missionally, opening our home—and yes, having babies.

When we first saw a positive pregnancy test, we were thrilled. Giddy. We took the second test the next morning just to be sure, and yep—still positive. We couldn’t keep the excitement in. We woke my parents up before church that morning, literally bursting into their house, dogs barking, no knocking, and shouted our news like crazy people. Our excitement was so big, hope was almost an afterthought.

Four weeks later, driving back to Texas from Alabama after Thanksgiving break, I started bleeding in a Chevron bathroom.

We stopped at an emergency room in Arlington, and they couldn’t find a heartbeat. We stayed with dear friends for a couple of days while I miscarried. And then we made our way back home, quiet and heavy. I lost my first baby. And my heart was sick.

What followed was almost a year of hearing the Lord whisper, “not yet”. A year of taking medicine to balance hormones that didn’t want to support a healthy pregnancy (and made me physically sick in the process). A year of counseling to sort through the grief and disappointment. To mourn the tree that had been planted but never had a chance to grow.

In that time—during that long, hard wait—the Lord began to teach me about hope. Real hope. Not just the kind you see printed on a throw pillow or written on a coffee mug. But the kind of hope that withstands the storm because it’s anchored in something deeper. The kind of hope that knows disappointment but doesn’t crumble under it. The kind of hope Scripture says won’t lead to shame or disappointment (Romans 5:5).

Emily Dickinson is famous for saying “hope is the thing with feathers.” But for me? That sounds much too floaty. Too easily tossed by the wind. I much prefer the picture described in Jeremiah that “those who have made the Lord their hope are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they never stop producing fruit.” (Jeremiah 17:7-8). 

No, Hope is not a thing with feathers.
Hope is a thing with roots.

Coincidentally, that “almost-a-year” of trying to conceive again ended up being just about nine months. I sometimes wonder what that first baby would have been like. Would she have been sassy like her sister? Or more reserved and quiet?  Would I have been different as a mom? I still carry that wonder sometimes. But the Lord had other plans, and as trite as that sounds, the roots in my heart would say otherwise. They’ve grown down deep enough to know He was doing something.

The next positive pregnancy test brought joy, yes, but it was much more cautious. We were excited, but this time we were also scared. I was scared. Scared to lose again. Scared to hope too much, too soon. I needed to hope—but I needed that hope to have roots.

The fear at the beginning of that pregnancy was crippling. I remember thinking, there’s no way I can do nine more months like this. Something had to give—and it couldn’t be the pregnancy. It had to be the fear.

One morning, standing in my kitchen, I remember telling the Lord through tears, “If You want me to go through all of it again, I will. I’ll do whatever You want. I’m Yours. This baby is Yours.” The second I surrendered that baby back to the Lord, something shifted. The fear lifted. And my heart found rest.

“That baby” turned out to be Laura Kate Wiley. And her life has been one of the most beautiful, redemptive pictures I’ve ever known. A tree of life in every sense of the word.

She turns 17 in just a few weeks, which absolutely blows my mind. Raising this little tree has not been easy. There have been moments I’ve literally yelled out loud to the Lord, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!” There have been tears on my pillow at night, worrying over her. But every time, the Lord gently reminds me of that morning in my kitchen. That moment I gave her to Him. And I whisper it back to Him: “She’s not mine. She’s Yours.” And my heart resettles where it’s supposed to be.

During my pregnancy with Laura Kate, I was doing a Bible study, and one verse stood out to me and became like a banner over her life. It’s the verse Kyle and I have prayed over her almost every day since we knew she was even a possibility:

“With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” – Isaiah 12:3

In the first seven years of her life, we would pray that verse over and over, that she would come to know Him, and love Him and serve Him all the days of her life. When she committed her life to the Lord at the age of seven, an even bigger dream was realized, and her roots grew even deeper.

Now, when I think of that verse and Laura Kate drawing water from the wells of salvation, I can’t help but think about that tree by the stream, its roots that reach deep into the water, drawing up joy and strength and life straight from the Source.

So yes, I have known the ache of hope deferred, the feeling of a sick heart. And I’ve tasted the joy of a dream fulfilled. And what I’ve come to believe deep in my soul is this:

Hope isn’t floaty. It’s not fragile.
Hope is not a thing with feathers, not for me.
Hope is a thing with roots.

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When I first heard Andrew Peterson's song, "Planting Trees”, I wept through the song, feeling an instant connection with his words and the calling I feel the Lord has put on our lives as seed planters. Sometime later, I saw an interview where Andrew tells the story behind the song. He explained that he and his wife were in a discussion group with other ministry leaders, and they were discussing the question "What are you doing to push back the darkness?" When the time came for his wife to answer, she humbled the group with her answer of, "I'm raising these three kids." 

These are the lyrics to the song “Planting Trees” by Andrew Peterson:

We chose the spot, we dug the hole
We laid the maples in the ground to have and hold
As Autumn falls to Winters sleep
We pray that somehow in the Spring
The roots grow deep
And many years from now
Long after we are gone
These trees will spread their branches out
And bless the dawn
He took a plane to Africa
He gathered up into his arms
An orphan son
So many years from now
Long after we are gone
This tree will spread its branches out
And bless the dawn
So sit down and write that letter
Sign up and join the fight
Sink in to all that matters
Step out into the light
Let go of all that's passing
Lift up the least of these
Lean into something lasting
Planting trees
She rises up as morning breaks
She moves among these rooms alone
Before we wake
And her heart is so full; it overflows
She waters us with love and the children grow
So many years from now
Long after we are gone
These trees will spread their branches out
And bless the dawn
These trees will spread their branches out
And bless someone