THE "SILO" this seed grew up in stood on land that had been a cow pasture for decades, maybe for centuries. Fertile soil. It was familiar territory to my dad, who from his earliest youth lived on a small farm he fondly referred to as, "The Ranch" in middle Tennessee—a few yards from the banks of the Harpeth River. If his family wanted to eat, they needed first to plant seeds of all kinds.
Many years later, our back yard in Georgia was hardly a farm, but the seeds we planted there always brought in plenty of delicious vegetables to complement the supper table for a growing family and provided something for the neighbors to enjoy as well.
Today our culture has moved far away from growing our own food and strategically storing it, but I think most everyone understands the basics of how seeds grow into plants and understand the many metaphors associated with seeds.
In mid-twentieth century Georgia, there was still plenty of farmland even in close proximity to Atlanta, and my grandparents used every spare foot of the red earth to grow some kind of food. The preachers I heard often used farm language to teach Bible principles. And for good reasons.
Scriptures are replete with illustrations of planting seeds and reaping what we sow. For example, if corn is planted, we will reap much more corn than we grew, and harvest it later.
We, too, are a type of seed. But we are unique hybrids! That term really doesn't begin to describe what we are capable of. But we are seeds that also plant seeds of our own all our lives, and will receive a harvest of what we've sown in the next life.
Some of us marry and combine DNA with another. After a nine-month wait, a new human is harvested. We grow old. But during those years our seed can come back to haunt us or bless us.
We are always in the process of reaping consequences (good or otherwise) for what we farm.
I have been allowed enough time to taste a sample of what I have planted along the way; both good and bad have been excellent teachers which have trained me to be more careful about what I plant.
I always ask myself if I truly believe that the thoughts I am sowing as I write these letters will find good soil, grow into beautiful fruit, and nourish all who consume it.
We too often believe our lives impact nothing or no one. And that what we have to offer is of little value to others.
That's a lie. It is written, "None of us lives to himself and none dies to himself."
Our seed is always changing, maturing, and will eventually "fall" and die. It is then that it begins to produce what it really is. A little frightening? I hope it is scary enough for us to commit to sowing better. We can change. We can decide to plant better words, thoughts, ideas, and deeds right now.
We were all given that power.
Listen to the instructions of the creator of the universe and everything in it—seen and unseen, as he speaks of his own impending death: “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives.” It's why we die every day to thinking of only ourselves.
Learn what that means. And think on this truth:
No matter what comes our way as the night draws near, and we think on all that has happened, we must'nt judge our today by the harvest we reaped today, rather by every seed we sow all day.
©️ Copyright 2021, 2022 Gary Landerfelt MyPericope.com
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