THE SQUIRREL
Quiet roots still bear fruit.
He didn’t know I was there. I walked back inside, found the camera, fitted the telescoping lens, and eased my way back out slowly — staying behind him just enough to hold the moment without disturbing it. He sat perfectly still in the grass. Not frantic. Not looking for a way out. Just present. Looking out across the street like he already knew exactly what he was doing.
Some seasons are not meant to be announced.
They are meant to be lived.
Built.
Prayed through.
Survived.
DEDICATION
To my wife Marty — for the countless conversations at tables, in cars, in quiet evenings, and through long seasons where we sat together and kept asking the same question: “Where are we headed?” Thank you for walking beside me with like mind, like spirit, and a shared desire to keep Jesus at the center of our marriage, our direction, and our future.
To my sister Jeffrey — for continuing to travel this adventure with us and allowing us to walk beside you in yours. Watching your growth, your resilience, your continued development, and your support through the years has been a blessing deeper than words can explain.
To Bakersfield — for becoming far more than a place on a map. For the kindness, warmth, faith, and community Marty and I found here after leaving behind nearly forty-five years in the Bay Area. For the people who still look each other in the eye… still wave… still ask how you’re doing and actually mean it.
To the Holy Spirit — who was nudging me long before I fully understood who He was. Thank You for guiding my steps even when I could not yet recognize Your voice.
SCRIPTURE
“But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place…” — Matthew 6:6
THE HOOK
I walked outside one day and stopped.
There was a squirrel in the front yard — sitting perfectly still in the grass.
Not frantic.
Not darting.
Just sitting there, looking out across the street.
Focused.
Aware.
Like he already knew exactly what he was doing.
I watched him for a moment and then went back inside.
Found the camera.
Fitted the telescoping lens.
Eased back out through the front door slowly — staying wide and quiet enough to hold the moment without disturbing it.
Standing there behind that lens…
Something about that posture hit me.
He was not wasting movement.
He was reading the environment before taking the next step.
THE STORY
That image stayed with me longer than I expected.
Because honestly — moving to Bakersfield felt a lot like that.
After nearly forty-five years in the Bay Area, Marty and I stepped into a completely different world.
The Bay Area taught me many things.
It shaped part of my story.
But somewhere along the way… it also became emotionally cold.
Busy.
Concrete.
Disconnected.
You could ride an elevator with ten people and no one would say a word.
Everyone moving.
Everyone guarded.
Everyone somewhere else mentally.
Then we came to Bakersfield.
And almost immediately… something felt different.
Not perfect.
Different.
Alive.
We began knowing our neighbors.
Not waving-across-the-driveway knowing.
Real knowing.
People coming to gatherings.
Stopping to talk.
Checking in.
Laughing together.
Doing life together on a near daily basis.
And honestly — that hit me harder than I expected.
Because back in San Jose, we lived in a small cul-de-sac for years.
And out of the entire neighborhood… we barely really knew one neighbor.
That realization stayed with me.
Bakersfield was a new experience.
It started as simple as the grocery store.
Cashiers would remember conversations from the week before.
Remember your name.
Ask how things turned out.
Simple things.
Human things.
Things that used to feel normal in this country.
Strangers would look you in the eye.
The man walking down the street would say, “How you doing?”
Not because he wanted something.
Because kindness still lived here.
And underneath all of it… there was something else.
Faith.
Community.
People who openly loved Jesus.
Not perfectly.
But sincerely.
You don’t always realize your soul has adapted to isolation until someone sincerely asks how you’re doing.
That realization stayed with me longer than I expected.
There was a time in my life when I thought growth needed witnesses.
Proof.
Momentum.
Recognition.
I thought if something important was happening… people needed to know about it.
But life has a way of humbling that mindset.
THE MOMENT
Seeds do not break open in public.
Roots do not grow in front of crowds.
Even Jesus withdrew.
Into wilderness.
Into solitude.
Into prayer.
The world celebrates visibility.
But heaven often develops people in hidden places first.
And if we are not careful… we can confuse attention with transformation.
One feeds the ego.
The other changes the soul.
Sometimes God changes your location because your soul can no longer grow there.
THE TURN
I have learned something difficult over time.
Not everyone deserves access to the season God is building inside you.
Some people only understand finished fruit.
They do not understand roots.
The pruning.
The breaking.
The rebuilding.
The silence.
And honestly… some things lose strength the moment they are constantly announced.
Because talking about becoming something… and quietly becoming it… are not the same thing.
There is a kind of discipline that grows stronger in private.
A kind of faith that matures away from crowds.
A kind of identity that settles when nobody is clapping.
THE DRIFT
“There’s nothing wrong with letting everyone know…”
“People should see your progress…”
“You need to keep yourself visible…”
That voice sounds productive.
It isn’t always.
Sometimes it is just the hunger for validation wearing the mask of connection.
I know.
Because I stayed in soil that had stopped feeding me.
For years.
THE REFLECTION
The older I get… the more I realize that God is rarely in a hurry.
He grows oak trees slower than weeds.
He builds foundations before platforms.
And He often removes noise before revealing direction.
Some of the strongest people you will ever meet… will not be loud.
They will be grounded.
Steady.
Difficult to shake.
Because they were formed somewhere deeper than public approval.
There is nothing wrong with sharing life.
But there is something powerful about protecting what is still becoming.
Jesus said to pray in secret.
Because secret places change people.
And sometimes the most powerful thing a person can do… is disappear long enough for God to rebuild them properly.
Looking back… that squirrel understood something I was still learning.
Provision matters.
But environment does too.
He sat still long enough to discern where life was actually coming from.
And maybe that is part of wisdom.
Not simply moving.
But knowing where your soul can truly grow.
WALKAWAY LINE
Private growth often produces the strongest fruit.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
Are you spending more energy announcing who you want to become… or quietly becoming it?
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
Teach me how to grow without needing attention.
Help me resist the urge to broadcast every unfinished piece of my life.
Strengthen me in quiet places.
Build roots deeper than recognition.
Where pride still seeks applause… humble me.
Where fear still seeks approval… steady me.
And where You are rebuilding something inside me… help me trust the process enough not to rush it into the light too soon.
Teach me how to become strong in secret.
Not for my glory.
But for Yours.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender. His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady. Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~