There’s a quiet miracle happening in gardens and fields, on windowsills and forest floors. Flowers, even those rooted in shadow, bend toward the light. It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. But it’s persistent. This movement—called phototropism—is a lifeline. Without light, the flower cannot bloom. Without turning, it begins to fade.
I’ve been thinking about this lately, how the soul, too, is made for light. Not just any light, but the kind that heals, reveals, and sustains. The light of Christ, the light of truth and the light of love.
And yet, how often do we stay planted in shadow? Out of fear, shame, fatigue, or simply forgetting that light is even possible. But like the flower, we are invited to turn. Even if it is slowly, imperfect or painful.
Turning toward God’s light isn’t always easy. It may mean stretching beyond what’s comfortable, letting go of what’s familiar, or exposing parts of ourselves we’d rather keep hidden. But it’s in that turning that we begin to live again. To bloom. To become what we were always meant to be.
So today, I ask myself:
Where am I still facing the dark?
And what would it look like to turn—just a little—toward the light?
Smitten With Goodness 