The crisp, yellow seed is warmed by the spring soil, drinks the April rain. Cracking, bursting, to the final explosion. The husk is rent and torn by increments over the days as it ripens and germinates. The sprig of new life reaches up toward the sun, slowly parting the molecules of dirt until it breaches the hard crust of topsoil. Feeding on nutrients from the dead leaves of last autumn, it sends out buds, and finally flowers. Beauty surrounds. And is brought humble again by small hands picking lupines and laying them like offerings of nature in the chick box at Grandpa's.
He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him. ~ Psalm 126:6
I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow,
A wave tossed in the ocean,
A vapor in the wind.
Still you hear me when I'm calling,
Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,
And you've told me who I am.
I am yours.
~ Who Am I, Casting Crowns
1 comment:
I sing this song with COMPLETE, TOTAL CONVICTION about the truth of it FOR ME. I love it and the day will never come (till death) when it is not a part of how I think. Gramma Fern thought this way so much, and it was a soothing awareness to her heaven-bound soul!
Post a Comment