I love to garden. It definitely grounds me! There’s something about digging in the dirt, pulling weeds, and seeing the fruits of your labor—whether it’s flowers or veggies—that soothes my soul.

But this year? My garden isn’t doing so hot. Some years are just like that. Too much rain, too much heat, too much cool weather—it could be anything. It’s disappointing, sure, but I’ve learned to shrug and say, “Oh well!”

My husband, however, takes a very different approach to gardening. While I’m more laissez-faire (aka freewheeling), he is methodical. Scientific. The man watches YouTube videos, reads plant books, researches soil types and nutrients—you name it. He does everything just right.

So when we decided to move four of our rose bushes this year, my husband got to work. He studied the how, the when, and the where. He dug proper holes, lifted the root balls carefully, and followed all the “rules” for success.

After a long, back-breaking day (for him—I was the supportive onlooker), the roses were in their new home. He warned me they’d go into shock and might not look great for a while.

No problem. I was prepared.

But after a few weeks, they still looked… well, dead.

“When do they bounce back?” I asked.
“Give it time,” he said.

So I gave it time. Still nothing.

But every day, without fail, my husband kept watering them.

Finally, I asked, “Why are you still watering those roses? They’re clearly dead.”
He just gave me a look—and kept watering.

I knew he had his doubts too. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was stubbornness disguised as faith.

And wouldn’t you know it?

One day, tiny green leaves started to peek out. Then more. Then more.
Against the odds… the roses came back.

Except for one.

That one just couldn’t do it. Maybe it had been in the same spot too long. Maybe its roots were too tangled. Maybe the shock was just too much.

And you know what? People can be like that too.

Life changes. Sometimes you have to leave behind the familiar and replant yourself somewhere new. And it’s hard. You might wilt. You might look like you’re not going to make it. But with time—and enough “watering” from people who care—you slowly start to grow again.

Support matters. Patience matters. Faith matters.

So if someone you care about seems stuck or “wilted,” don’t give up on them just yet. Keep watering. Keep showing up.

And if you’re the one feeling a little lifeless? Take your time. Rest. Re-root. You might feel like a dead rose now—but there’s still life under the surface.

And if all else fails? Well, there’s always the garden center. Some plants just weren’t meant to be perennials.

– Peni