Meditation on Howard Thurman’s The Growing Edge
Guest Writer: the Rev. Michael McCain
“All around us worlds are dying and new worlds are being born;
all around us life is dying and life is being born.
The fruit ripens on the tree, the roots are silently at work in the darkness
of the earth against a time when there shall be new lives, fresh blossoms,
green fruit. Such is the growing edge!
It is the extra breath from the exhausted lung, the one more thing to try
when all else has failed, the upward reach of life when weariness closes
in upon all endeavor.
This is the basis of hope in moments of despair, the incentive to carry on
when times are out of joint and men have lost their reason, the source of
confidence when worlds crash and dreams whiten into ash.
The birth of a child — life’s most dramatic answer to death — this is the
growing edge incarnate. Look well to the growing edge!”—Howard Thurman in the Growing Edge (1956)
Meditation on “Growing Edge”
by The Rev. Michael T. McCain
“The roots are silently at work in the darkness of the earth.”
Two years ago, I was sent a selection of native trees from the Arbor Day Foundation. I was excited to get my dogwoods, redbuds, and hawthorns in the mail. What arrived was a box full of sticks. Sorry, dead-looking sticks. I read the instructions and planted the sticks anyway around my property. One in the front yard, two on the sides, and one in the fenced backyard. They looked silly. Sticks jutting out of the ground. Dead and dry. I planted them in the autumn and was instructed to water them regularly. So throughout the fall and winter, I watered dead sticks in the ground. It seemed hopeless. Some days were cold. Nothing seemed to be going on. I imagined roots silently at work underneath the iron-hard winter ground. But still, I was pretty certain I had been sent a box of dud sticks and that this was some sort of joke. The watering was consistent, more or less. Some days and weeks were more consistent than others, if I'm being honest. The One who fashions the growing edge is forgiving of our inconsistent efforts at consistency in doing our part.
Turns out I watered enough. At least enough. As winter thawed, the first signs of life appeared. Small green growth. New growth. Buds anticipating leaves. I was ecstatic. The watering continued more enthusiastically than ever. The growing edge is more hopeful when you can see it. Outward and visible signs, as it were. Hope is high as leaves begin to emerge. Dogwood, redbud, and hawthorn leaves.
The deer are prolific in the Kingwood neighborhood. The dogwoods and redbuds gave it their best efforts, putting out leaves again and again. Nothing is wasted in God’s economy, as they say. Those leaves were intended to be deer food, it seems. “Not my will but thine be done.” “All around us life is dying and life is being born.”
The hawthorn tree had a backyard fence around it. The growing edge can be aided by healthy boundaries. I’ve always been fascinated that a fence’s usefulness is not just what it keeps in but what it keeps out. The sheep gate keeps in the fold and keeps out the wolves. My backyard fence was there to keep in my dog, but it also kept out the deer. The hawthorn remained and grew and grew and grew that first summer. The growing edge shot up taller than me. I was proud of the dead hawthorn stick that had become a lively young tree shooting straight up from the ground.
Another winter came. I knew what to do this time because I had done it before. The past can give hope for the future. The new growth continued more vigorously than ever in the second spring, growing too fast. The whole tree began to bend over, unable to support its own weight against the wind. Bent but not broken, I left the tree alone to see what it would do. It stayed bent over for a really long time. It didn't seem to be doing very much at all. The only thing I knew to do was keep consistently watering it, just as I had when it was a dead stick in cold ground. New branches formed. Branches upon branches. The hawthorn tree is learning balance as it continues to grow. And maybe growing fast and growing well are not always the same thing.
I can see so much of myself and how the growing edge works in my life in this tree. There are times in my life when it seems like nothing is going on. I’m stuck in the hallway or the waiting room. But on my better days, I remember the growing edge is still at work in my life. There are times in my life and vocation when signs of growth are apparent, and I get really excited. Sometimes I overdo it during these times. I try to grow too fast.
The spiritual winds bend me over, and God invites me to learn balance again and again.
As far as I know right now, God leads the growing edge in our lives, and it’s my job to participate in and support growth while remembering that God does the growing. We do not have to know yet what is growing. We do not have to force growth. Our task is to notice, tend, protect, and trust the life coming from the growing edge that God is guiding.
Fences to protect new growth are helpful. I make sure to tend to my whole self: physical, mental, spiritual, and social. I set aside time for each of those areas. I recognize that people-pleasing and a tendency to say yes will always be part of my character, so I remember to fence off my attempts to find approval and identity in what others think of me, in the things I possess, and in wanting to be certain. The esteem of others, security, and control are three areas my false self wants to go to. The best fence is remembering that I am beloved by God, just as I am right now. Fences are nice, but mine fail often.
The most reliable thing I can do to support the growing edge is to water as consistently as I can. I water by writing down five things I'm grateful for every night and three times I laughed during the day. I water by praying. Sometimes I don't feel like the prayers are doing anything. Sometimes I feel like they are doing everything. The point is not the feeling but the action of praying. I water myself by intentionally staying connected with people.
Isolation is a big temptation for me, and nothing quenches the growing edge of my life faster than thinking I'm alone. My perception gets warped in isolation. When I water consistently, I notice the foundation of hope at the growing edge stays strong. I often stop watering consistently. But God, the One who fashions the growing edge, is forgiving of our inconsistent efforts to be consistent in doing our part.
On my better days, I remember that God is the One guiding the growing edge, whether I can see it or not. Whether I'm in a season of life or death, or whether I'm consistent or not. God never stops working at the growing edge of my life.
And that is enough. To trust that something is growing even when we cannot see it. To keep watering. To protect what is tender. To let God tend the old lives dying within us and the new lives being born within us. And to keep noticing the growing edge.
Meditation given by the Rev. Michael T. McCain at the Diocese of Arkansas Curacy Retreat at Camp Mitchell on 29 August 2026.
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