Power of a Seed

Crimson juice ran down my hands, but I gave it no attention. Why should I care about the sticky mess when there were more clusters of sweet cherries on the next branch?  A songbird’s joyful chirping echoed my thought: nothing compares with cherries fresh from the tree. 

I wonder if Mr. Hawes could picture this fruitful forest when he dug scrawny saplings into this then-barren ground. I wonder if saw the thousand sticky red smiles or felt the rush of energy from the fruit of his labour. And I wonder if the nursery workers could see the trees as they planted the seeds. 

The burrs pricked my fingers as I pulled them off my shoelaces and socks. This meadow would look amazing if it was full of flowers, but some little burrs had hitched a ride into into it. Now the flowers are choked out by burdock. If I let the burrs tag along with me, I’ll help turn another meadow into a weedy waste – a minor tragedy compared with the thorns I’ve sown in the hearts of friends. 

Can you calculate the potential in a seed?  Can you see the oak in the acorn?  Can you count the time and money wasted by letting a single weed seed grow and multiply in the field?  Can you feel the joy in a chain-reaction of smiles?  Can you feel the pain as a person you’ve hurt in turn hurts someone else?

Crimson streams ran down Jesus’ hands, but He paid no attention. He couldn’t rest while I was helpless and lost. The thorns I’ve planted in my heart can’t be removed without pain, but He pulls them anyway. He sees something better as He plants and tends new seeds in me.