The Meaning of Spring Buds: A Story of Growth, Grace & Fresh Lilac
The Buds Are Starting (And I Can’t Stop Thinking About What They Mean)
We flew home to Michigan yesterday, and I wish I could bottle up that exact moment for you.
Stepping off the plane… that cool Midwest air hitting your face.
Driving past miles of family-owned restaurants, cultures layered into every street.
And then seeing that familiar sign—Pure Michigan.
It felt like exhaling.
After a month and a half away, I didn’t realize how much I needed that feeling of coming home.
This morning, Grace and I walked the garden.
Coffee in hand, still a little bundled up, we made our way out to feed the roses. But like always, we didn’t move very fast.
Because we kept stopping.
At every tiny bud.
The smallest ones—barely there—just beginning to push through.
And something about those little buds stayed with me.
Because they’re easy to miss.
If you’re rushing, you won’t see them. If you’re waiting for something big and obvious, you’ll overlook them completely.
But they hold so much promise.
They don’t question if they’re ready.
They don’t compare themselves to the bloom next to them.
They don’t wait until everything is perfect.
They just begin.
And standing there in the quiet of a Michigan morning, I couldn’t help but think… how often do we hold ourselves back from doing the same?
For most of my life, I thought my pull toward change was a weakness.
I’ve always loved building something new. Creating. Designing. Starting fresh.
And just as much—I’ve loved the moment when something feels complete… and it’s time to move on to the next thing.
But somewhere along the way, I started to believe that meant I wasn’t consistent enough. That I needed to pick one path and stay on it.
That I needed to fit the mold.
Sixteen years ago, everything shifted.
When I was told, “your unborn child has markers for Down syndrome,” I didn’t realize in that moment what a gift I had just been given.
Because from the very beginning, Grace changed the way I saw everything.
It felt like she was already speaking to me—
We’re not here to fit the mold.
So you might as well go live your life.
Run in whatever direction lights you up… I’ll be right beside you.
And she has been ever since.
Grace gave me permission to grow.
To shift.
To build a life that doesn’t look like anyone else’s.
Now, standing in the garden with her, watching those tiny buds… I see it so clearly.
Growth doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful.
It doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.
It just has to be willing.
This time of year always brings me back to one of the very first things Grace and I ever created together…
Our Fresh Lilac candle.
If you’ve ever smelled lilacs in early spring, you know—it’s not just a scent.
It’s a memory.
It’s your grandmother’s kitchen window thrown open on a cool morning.
It’s the moment winter finally lets go.
It’s the quiet promise that something new is on its way.
That’s what we wanted to capture.
Not just a fragrance… but a feeling.
A reminder to slow down.
To notice.
To pay attention to the small things that are actually the big things.
Because the truth is, life doesn’t usually change in big, dramatic moments.
It changes in the quiet ones.
In the tiny buds.
In the small decisions.
In the moments where you choose to begin… even if you don’t have it all figured out yet.
So if you’ve been feeling that pull lately…
To change something.
To start something.
To grow in a new direction.
Take it.
You don’t need permission.
But just in case you’ve been waiting for it—here it is.
You are allowed to begin.
Right where you are.
Just like those little buds in the garden… there is something beautiful and completely your own unfolding.
If you want to follow along as we step into spring here in Southwest Michigan—planting, pouring, and sharing more of this season—you can join us over at The Grace Effect.
We’ll be sharing more of Fresh Lilac and the story behind it in the days ahead.
And as always… thank you for being here and growing with us 🤍
