Within the past couple of years, I have gotten back into baking things made from sourdough. I’m not an expert. I’m not even a baker, really. But friends and the internet help me along the way. One thing I really don’t know about is chemistry. And from what I understand, baking is chemistry.

The good news is, I don’t have to be an expert, I just have to trust the process.

I have starter from a friend (after I killed the last batch I had, but we don’t need to discuss that here). She gave me a little cheat sheet to help me along the way, and then I was on my own. Just a little water, salt, flour, and the wild yeasties that apparently float around everywhere. I try not to think about that part too much.

But with all the ingredients, a warm environment, and time, I have a happily bubbling jar of starter ready to be mixed into a lovely loaf or whatever other creation I desire to make that week. I usually feed my starter at night so in the morning, I’m always excited to see the growth. It’s like magic.

It got me thinking.

We raised three kids in our house. They had the same parents, the same environment, the same love, attention and care, with only minor variations given their temperaments and whatever might have been going on in our lives at any particular time.

So why haven’t all three of them followed the same path of faith? Why does one totally question the existence of God while another one has wholeheartedly pursued a relationship with Jesus? And why has the third come up with a totally different version of God than what he was taught?

Why are two gainfully employed and one having an enormously hard time even thinking about being tied to a job 40 hours a week?

If the same ingredients were added to each life, why aren’t the results the same? Why isn’t the growth visible?

And then God reminded me of another analogy I’ve been using about how He works.

Years ago we had a line of bushes called Ixoras. They have lovely blossoms of orange and yellow. But they began declining, and so we uprooted them and planted something that would regularly give us more color.

But one day, maybe more than a year later, I noticed a little shoot coming out of the ground near where we had uprooted those Ixoras. What we thought didn’t exist in our yard anymore suddenly showed new life. (The photo on the right shows it many months later.) And then, to our even greater surprise, another one on the other side of the walkway showed up. And though smaller, this one has bloomed. The bloom on that one got a little battered from a recent thunderstorm, but there it is, blooming, right next to where its kin used to be.

Somehow, some way, those roots were still alive. What we couldn’t see below the surface, God knew was happening all the time. It gives me hope.

Like living roots and sourdough starter, there is nothing we can do to cause spiritual growth in our kids except provide the right ingredients and environment, and trust God with the results.

When we can’t see His hand, we can always trust His heart. He promises to work all things together for our good and His glory (Romans 8:28). I don’t know what He’s doing under the surface in my kids’ lives, but I know that He loves them. And I know that He wants a relationship with them again. And I know that He will leave the 99 to find the one who has wandered away.

No amount of wringing my hands will make my starter grow better, and I’m not the one who made those little Ixoras push through the surface. I planted the original plants, but I had given up on them.

But God hadn’t. Only He knows the when and how. And I will continue to learn to trust the process.