For many of us, faith begins with a moment—an encounter, a decision, a whisper that awakens something inside. But that moment is only the beginning. Faith is not a finish line we cross; it’s a journey we walk. And growing faith understands that. It allows us to be both rooted and in motion. It allows us to say, “I’m not where I used to be, but I’m not yet where I’m going. Still, I’m growing.”

In John 15:5, Jesus says, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.”

That verse has anchored me more than once. Growing faith doesn’t come from striving harder or doing more. It comes from staying connected—staying close to Jesus, letting His life flow into every part of ours. Sometimes the growth is obvious: answered prayers, new opportunities, deeper understanding. Other times, it’s hidden: a little more patience in traffic, a softer heart after a hard conversation, a quieter trust in the middle of uncertainty. The branch doesn’t force the fruit—it abides. It remains. And in remaining, it grows.

But let’s be honest. Growth isn’t always easy. Sometimes we imagine growing faith as a steady upward curve, a spiritual climb where every day is brighter than the last. But real growth rarely looks like that. Sometimes it looks like wrestling with doubt, sitting in silence, praying the same prayer for months with no visible result. Sometimes it looks like crying in the car and still showing up to worship. It looks like reading Scripture not for answers, but just for the comfort of being near God’s voice.

That’s where resilient faith comes in. Because growing faith is resilient faith. Faith that is resilient endures through hardship, disappointment, and silence—not because it escapes pain, but because it knows where its anchor lies. It holds steady when prayers seem unanswered and hope feels faint. It draws strength not from how things look on the outside but from the character of God, who never changes.

Resilient faith is what you see in people who’ve lost more than you can imagine and still whisper, “God is good.” It’s what holds someone through betrayal, or heartbreak, or the long slow ache of waiting. It’s what steadies you when everything in you wants to give up. Not because you're strong, but because your roots go deep. Because you’ve learned to lean—not on your own understanding, but on the One who never sleeps nor slumbers (Psalm 121:4).

And that’s the thing: growing faith grows roots before it grows fruit. It sinks deep before it ever shines bright. In fact, some of the most significant growth happens underground—in hidden places where no one else sees. In dry seasons, when everything feels barren, growing faith keeps digging. It finds the Living Water. It holds on. And eventually—when the time is right—it bears fruit. Not in a rush, not for show, but in due season.

One of the quiet lessons I’ve learned over the years is that God isn’t in a hurry. We are. We want instant results, quick answers, visible progress. But God is patient. He grows faith like He grows trees—slow, strong, steady. He’s more interested in lasting transformation than temporary applause. So growing faith requires patience. It means giving yourself permission to be in process. It means being kind to yourself when you stumble, because even stumbling forward is still movement.

And yes, sometimes growing faith means pruning. Jesus talks about this in John 15 too. Every branch that bears fruit, He prunes so it can bear more. That pruning can hurt. It might look like letting go of things we once depended on. It might mean facing hard truths, walking away from comfort, or surrendering control. But God never cuts without purpose. The pain is never wasted. The pruning makes space for something new to grow.

I think of Abraham, who waited years for the promise of a child. Of Joseph, who was thrown into a pit, sold into slavery, and imprisoned before he ever saw the dream fulfilled. Of Ruth, who chose faith in the middle of loss. Of David, who worshiped through fear and exile. Of Mary, who said yes to God without knowing what it would cost. Their stories remind us that growing faith is not clean and easy. It’s messy. It’s stretched. But it’s also holy.

And here’s the beautiful tension: growing faith is both reflective and responsive. It takes time to pause, to notice, to ask, “God, what are you doing here?” It reflects on where God has brought us, what He’s teaching us, what needs to be unlearned. But it doesn’t stop there. Once it hears, it moves. Once it discerns, it responds. It doesn’t stay in the journal or the prayer room. It steps out.

I’ve seen this in my own life—not always in big, dramatic ways, but in small, quiet choices. Choosing forgiveness instead of bitterness. Saying yes to an invitation that stretches me. Listening longer, speaking slower. Trusting God with one more day. Each of those moments felt small at the time, but looking back, they were markers of growth. Not just belief, but formation.

Growing faith makes room for imperfection. It gives grace for the process. It recognizes that falling down isn’t the end—it’s part of learning to walk. It celebrates baby steps and honors slow seasons. And through it all, it keeps asking, “What is God growing in me right now?” Not just what am I doing, but who am I becoming?

In a world that celebrates instant results, growing faith is deeply countercultural. It invites us to slow down, to stay close to Jesus, and to trust the process. It doesn’t demand perfection; it invites presence. It doesn’t just want to look good; it wants to be good. It doesn’t just want quick answers; it wants a deeper relationship.

So wherever you are on your journey—whether you feel stuck, thriving, or somewhere in between—know this: if your faith is still reaching, still asking, still trusting, then your faith is still growing. Even if it’s quiet. Even if it’s slow. Even if no one else sees it.

Because growing faith doesn’t always look like a mountaintop. Sometimes it looks like roots going deeper in the valley. Sometimes it looks like waiting. But always, it looks like staying connected to the Source. Always, it looks like grace unfolding in real time.

And that’s the heart of adaptive faith—a faith that connects the unchanging God to a constantly changing world. A faith that bends without breaking, reflects without retreating, responds without fear, and keeps growing—no matter the season.