I’d been putting off the task. As I do.

But the nights had been pretty cold for the last few weeks; and now, snow was in the forecast.

So it needed to be done.

Now or never.

Planting the daffodil bulbs.

The light was low that day. The sky a steel grey. And a brisk November wind was stripping the trees of those last stubborn leaves.

As I knelt and dug on the hard ground, I was overcome by strong waves of emotion.

An old archbishop friend once said, “The seeds of spring blow on the cold winds of November.”

And I was aware that planting bulbs is an act of faith. Of hope. That spring will come. That what we plant will grow.

It struck me in that moment how much of our lives depend on this same quiet trust. We plant long before we see anything happen. We put something into the ground knowing the winter will come and stay. We take action without any guarantee of timing or outcome. And still, we plant.

And yet, these past months, the world has felt heavy. Darker than usual. The news cycles. The uncertainty. The fatigue that settles in when we try to make sense of too much. It is easy to feel that our planting doesn’t matter. That our efforts barely make a dent. That maybe waiting for a “better season” makes more sense.

But here is the truth I remembered as I pressed those bulbs into the cold earth: the planting we do in the dark is the planting that transforms us. Anyone can sow in the sunshine. Anyone can take bold steps when everything feels light and easy. But planting in November, whether literally or figuratively, is what shapes our character. It is what sets the stage for the life we want next.

Every dream worth pursuing asks something of us long before it offers anything back. The new business. The book. The product. The program. The next chapter we can feel but cannot yet fully see. All of them require faith. All of them require a willingness to kneel in the cold, dig into hard ground, and bury something small with the trust that it will become something beautiful.

Most people wait for certainty. For green shoots. For signs that the timing is perfect. But life doesn’t work that way. Growth does not come to those who wait for ideal conditions. It comes to those who take the step, however small, and trust that spring follows winter as surely as morning follows night.

So plant.

Even when you feel discouraged. Even when the world feels unsteady. Even when your confidence is shaky and your vision is blurry. Plant anyway.

Because planting is not about the immediate return. Planting is about declaring that you still believe in what is possible. It is about staking a claim in the future you want, even while standing in a present that feels uncertain.

Those bulbs will rest now in the dark. They will sleep under snow and ice. Nothing will look different for months. But something powerful will be happening just below the surface. Roots will take hold. Energy will gather. And before long, those first green shoots will push through, quietly insisting that hope was never misplaced.

And so it is with your dreams.

What you plant now will grow.

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