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Noonday Notes, Issue 17

Gotta Know When to Fold Em

Noonday Notes, Issue 17

Noonday Notes

Issue No. 17

September 26h, 2025


This week, I’ve been sitting with the reality that many of our seeds didn’t germinate. The heat has been too much, and what we hoped would sprout just didn’t. There's grief in that. Planting seeds with hope, and then facing bare soil. Farming teaches us in moments of failure that sometimes you just have to start over. There’s a particular kind of humility in acknowledging that what you first planted isn’t going to grow, and that it’s time to pivot and begin again.


It feels fitting that this all comes as we cross into fall. A season marked by endings and beginnings. Days are shorter, and fields (or habits) in our lives may end, making room for planting and formation again. A cold front is (supposedly) moving in, a tangible reminder that things are shifting and change is possible. The rhythms of creation echo the rhythms of life, reminding us that every ending carries the seed of something new.


Scripture speaks to this pattern of destruction and renewal. After the flood, when all seemed lost, there was grief and waiting for the waters to recede. Similar to how we in South Texas wait for the heat to end. But God. The flood was not the end, but the threshold of a new beginning. And it was out of lament that life was brought forth again. Not the same life, but a renewed creation, marked by promise. And through the prophet Isaiah, we are reminded:


“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19 NIV)


There is wisdom in recognizing when it’s time to start over. The ache of letting go of what might have been. And yet, there is mercy and hope in the chance to begin again. Farming mirrors the larger story: the seed may fail, but the soil is still good. There is always another chance. And sometimes, it is in the space of uncertainty, bare soil and waiting for a new wind, that we see the beauty of fresh beginnings. So here’s to re-planting and new (new) beginnings.


Read the rest of the newsletter here.

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