This seed must die before it can be cultivated--
I photograph gorgeous bush in my yard,
After viewing it, I realize I'm looking at death come to life.
I'm looking at His Word..............
'Except a seed fall to the ground and die,'
One faith-filled kernel, one eternal embryo,
fruition by the hundreds,
Thousands of bouquets.
And so I too, before I inhale abundance,
must daily die,
Must die to my will, my way, my life, my self,
Why is it so hard,
knowing the beauty that will bud,
the vineyards that will be harvested?
Am I really clothing the perishable with the imperishable,
when I choose to die?
It seems I am giving up life for death,
Not the opposite.
Why do I resist it so?
This giving up of my way,
When I know He says,
"Your ways are not my ways,
Your thoughts not as mine."
Why do I labor and toil so with the cultivating,
When I am not ready to take up my cross
and share in the fellowship of His sufferings,
When I am not willing to give myself
to the dark soil of death. . .
I am not yet ready to be buried,
Prepare me Lord, for burial, I have tried and failed---
"The shriveled seed, so destitute of form and comeliness, rises from the dust a beauteous flower. The winter of the grave gives way to the spring of redemption and the summer of glory." Charles Spurgeon
Another page turned,
from past pages
