Trust the Roots

This article was written by Chad Schoonmaker and published by Crossroads Coaching.

During COVID, like a lot of people, I picked up a few new hobbies. One of mine was plants. I collected a few, learned how to care for them, and even bought indoor lights to keep them alive longer than nature probably intended.

Some of those plants survived moves, anxiety-ridden pets with aggressive zoomies, and steaming hot Louisiana summers, which honestly deserve their own survival badge.

My favorite was a fiddle-leaf fig tree. Over time, it grew to at least ten feet tall. I’m serious! Thriving. Perfectly placed on our deck, providing shade and ambiance like it knew it was a “tree of Lebanon.”

And then came what we jokingly call ”The Great Blizzard of 2025.”

For a minute, the snowfall was kind of magical, right? The kind that makes grown adults forget responsibilities and revert straight back to childhood. There was adventure in the air. A collective, “Wait… is this really happening?”

And then it melted.

What was left behind was not quite as magical.

What felt temporary, harmless, and fun at first had lasting effects I did not expect. Especially for my fiddle-leaf fig.

The leaves turned brown and dried up.
Then branches started to drop, one by one.
Eventually, the trunk split clean in half.

I called it. Dead. Done. Over.

I found myself wondering how something so beautiful and awe-inspiring as the snow could leave behind so much loss for something that brought me a lot of joy over time.

I did not have the heart to throw the tree away. I left it in the pot. Left the stump sticking out of the dirt. I told myself I’d deal with it later.

The days turned into months, and 2025 kept moving forward. It was filled with both really good days and really hard ones. Every time I came home and passed that empty pot, it reminded me of the joy the snow brought and what it quietly took away.

Months later, long after the snow had melted and I had stopped thinking about the pot, something happened.

I noticed green. I had to look twice to believe it.

New growth pushing up from what I was certain was dead and gone.

Life quietly emerging from below the surface. From below what could not be seen.

I am no horticulturist, but I do know this. The root system of any plant is its unseen foundation of life. Underground, roots anchor the plant in place, draw in water and nutrients, and store energy for seasons when growth slows or stress hits.

While nothing appears to be happening above the surface, the roots are doing their job. Quietly strengthening, repairing, and preparing for what comes next. Long before new life appears above ground, the real work is already well underway below.

That perspective changed the way I think about growth altogether. This isn’t just about a plant.

Maybe your business had a similar experience this year.

• Maybe you lost clients.
• Missed revenue goals.
• Your all-star employee took a new job.
• You felt unmotivated. Stuck. Like you could not get ahead no matter how hard you tried.

So what do you do? You don’t throw the whole pot out just yet.

Trust the vision God placed on your heart when you started the business. When progress feels slow or uncertain, return to the foundational principles that first brought the vision to life.

Stay faithful in your efforts, steward what has been entrusted to you with excellence, and remember that your role as business owner is to plant and nurture.

Trust God with the roots, knowing He is at work in ways you cannot yet see.

Here’s what I learned this year: Tough seasons do not mean dead roots.

Just because something looks broken, bare, or lifeless does not mean the best isn’t yet to come. Trust the process. God is not done!

Growth does not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it waits. Sometimes it builds underground. Most of the time, it takes longer than we would like.

But growth is still happening.

As of today, my fiddle-leaf fig is thriving. Nearly four feet tall with multiple new shoots, it has a lot of promise. It serves as a quiet reminder that what looks finished after a hard season is often just getting started.