The Work is Ours, the Growth is His | Day in the life RCD

 

Hello RCD readers

​There is a strange, persistent trap that many of us fall into. Whether we are drawing up blueprints for a home or helping a child find their footing in a dance studio, we believe that if we just hold the reins tight enough, if we just curate the perfect checklist, we can guarantee the outcome.

​I’ve spent a lot of time living in that trap. I’ve overthought the professional decisions and tried to micromanage the growth of the people around me. But this Sunday, during service, a scripture hit me right at the core:

​“I planted the seed, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow. So neither the planter nor the waterer is anything, only God who makes things grow—planter and waterer are the same. However, each will be rewarded according to his work.” — 1 Corinthians 3:6-8 (CJB)

​It is a humbling, liberating truth. We are not the ones who make things grow. We are simply the planters and the waterers.

​The Architecture of Integrity

​This week, I found myself paralyzed by a project. A client consultation had me wrestling with my value, my pricing, and the fear of the "no." I wanted the outcome to be perfect. I wanted to be the best, to make the best decisions, and to ensure the result was seamless. It took a whole weekend to come up with the price because it will take three months minimum if done right with a lot of design meetings,  construction meetings and client's consultations.

​Then I realized: I was trying to step into God's shoes.

​My job as an architect isn’t to force the client to see the value; my job is to work with absolute integrity. It is to stand by a price that reflects the professional labor, administrative care, and craft I pour into every design.

​If a client sees that value, it is a blessing. If they don’t, it is not a reflection of my worth; it is simply part of a harvest I do not control. When we focus on the work—on giving it our all—the outcome stops being a source of anxiety and starts being a matter of trust.

​The Ballet of Growing Up

​This struggle to let go carries over into my life as a dance teacher. I love my little ballerinas. Their innocence, their pure joy, and their impossible, nosey questions are the highlight of my worst days. I choose to be the "safe space" aunt and teacher because I know the impact of a different kind of discipline—one built on love rather than the fear I was raised with.

​But then, the "switch" happens. The teenagers.

​Those bubbly, focused girls suddenly shift. They become moody, avoidant, and nonchalant. They struggle with hormones and disrespect, and truthfully, my patience is often tested. When a student chooses to walk away right before a recital, it’s easy to feel the heartache of that "un-harvested" seed.

​Should I stop trying? Should I move only to the younger groups to avoid the sting?

​The answer, I think, is no. I’ve decided to cherish the 15 minutes I get before class—the moments where they can still just be kids—without grieving the inevitable changes of the future. I am learning that my role isn’t to control the outcome of their journey or to force them to stay in the garden. My role is to be a steady harbor, to keep watering the seeds, and to leave the growth to the One who knows exactly what they need to become.

​Cultivating Trust

​Whether you are building a structure or building a life, the lesson remains the same.

• ​In Architecture: Design with honesty, use the best materials, and hold your head high, knowing your work has value regardless of the client’s reaction.
• ​In Life: Be the safe space. Be the planter. Be the waterer.

​Stop trying to force the harvest. When you feel the urge to overstep, to worry about the outcome, or to control the uncontrollable, remember: your only responsibility is to do your work with the utmost quality and love.

​The growth? That is God’s territory. And honestly? It’s in the best possible hands.