This weekend, I packed up my books and handmade jewelry and headed to a local market in Clinton, Mississippi. It was the kind of day that begged to be spent outdoors—bright blue skies, a gentle breeze, and the cozy charm of Clinton’s downtown. It should’ve been a perfect day. But if you’ve ever tried to be cheerful after waking up earlier than your body agrees with—especially as a night owl—you’ll understand that things didn’t start off quite so picturesque.

My husband and I had a few tense moments on the drive over. Chalk it up to early mornings and the pressure of setting up in time, but the vibe wasn’t great. On top of that, I couldn’t shake the memory of the last time I’d attended this particular market—when I’d sold less than the fee it cost to be there. I arrived discouraged, feeling like maybe my writing and creative business was more of a burden on our family’s finances than a blessing.

As we unloaded our gear and started setting up, my emotions were a storm cloud over what should’ve been a sunny experience. Guilt from our earlier disagreement and anxiety about not making sales weighed heavily on me. And when the market officially began? It got worse before it got better.

Two hours passed—half of which I spent alone while my husband grabbed breakfast—and I hadn’t sold a single item. My mind spiraled. I was convinced I’d ruined the day by being short-tempered, and that I’d ruin it again by not making a single sale. Every doubt about my calling and purpose came rushing back.

When my husband returned, Chick-fil-A bag in hand and a large diet lemonade (my favorite), he immediately began talking me off the ledge. He wasn’t upset about our earlier squabble. In fact, he gently pointed out that the market seemed to be geared toward children—it was connected to the town’s annual caterpillar parade, after all. He reminded me he was there to support me no matter what.

Even with his grace and support, I struggled to shake the frustration. But then, something shifted.

Once the parade crowd thinned out and more adults began to wander through, people started stopping by my table. First one or two. Then a few more. By the end of the day, I’d had one of my most successful market experiences to date.

That night, as I reflected on the whirlwind of emotions, I realized something important. Sure, I was grateful for the sales—they felt like a blessing. Every transaction boosted my mood. But I also recognized something deeper: I had based my idea of “being blessed” entirely on whether or not I sold anything. In doing so, I had missed a greater, steadier blessing available to me all along.

The Blessing of Trusting God, Not Circumstances

Today’s hope-filled verses appear right between warnings about trusting in human strength and descriptions of the deceitfulness of the human heart. On either side we find descriptions of humanity’s brokenness, but in the middle, a picture of peace, resilience, and spiritual abundance.

I’ve always loved trees—their beauty, their strength, their quiet witness to the passing of seasons. But this passage shows us that the tree planted by water symbolizes something even deeper: the kind of unwavering trust in God that leads to lasting peace.

Missing the Greater Blessing

That Saturday, I had the chance to be that tree. To plant myself beside the stream of God’s goodness and rest in the unchanging truth that He is faithful—whether I sold a hundred items or none at all. Instead of catastrophizing, I could have worshiped. I could have enjoyed the laughter of children parading by, the blue sky overhead, and the beauty of being reconciled with my husband. I could have trusted that God’s provision goes beyond what I can sell in a five-hour market window.

But I missed it—at least at first. And I don’t want to make that mistake again.

Let’s Practice Rooting Ourselves in Faith

This week, let’s remind ourselves to be like that tree. Let’s practice anchoring our trust not in our sales, schedules, or successes, but in the steady stream of God’s faithfulness. Let’s choose to believe that He is the one who brings fruit in our lives—even when the ground feels dry or the results are slow to appear.

Whether you’re walking into a challenging week, facing doubts about your calling, or just trying to stay afloat in the hustle of everyday life, remember this: the blessing isn’t in the outcome. It’s in the connection. Reach your roots toward Him—and see what He does with your open heart.