A Seedling’s Journey
“And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.” John 12: 23-26
“We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” Romans 6:4
“You foolish person! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.” 1 Corinthians 15:36
“ That I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.” Philippians 3;10
When I was born, I opened my eyes and beamed with joy, for I had been placed in the Maker’s hands. I saw the countenance of his face shining over me, eyes of knowing wonder, seeing me. He looked at me with intrigue, almost imagining with me as to what he would make me to be, yet his eyes told me that he truly was the omniscient one - already knowing, yet pleased to journey with me. Golden eyes radiated with love that pierced the deepest places, revealing wounds within even I had been unaware of.
I was still so young -
“where did these wounds come from?” I wondered. But before my soul could speak the question, wholeness met me there. I was safe within his hands. A confidence swept over me and I knew anything was possible now. As tiny as I was, the Maker delighted in holding me in those lovely scarred hands of his.
That was until I saw him, placing me in his left hand and with the other, digging a hole.
“My grave?” I contested.
But we had just begun. I had dreams and plans and I thought the Father wanted those for me? Doubt began to creep in, soaking through the cracks in my frail frame. I thought he was safe.
He looked content in his digging, so I continued to enjoy this moment in his hands, however long it would last - I basked in the warmth of his flesh, the security that penetrated my heart as his long fingers shaded me from the elements around. I took the time to study his fingers, then his palm, and then his wrist, where thick scar tissue covered the place where I knew a nail had been. I think I had heard the story before - or at least I knew it was tucked away somewhere deep within my spirit.
He was fully God, yet he became fully a man.
“Was that on my behalf?” I tried to remember.
I didn’t like thinking about those gruesome details. A man, unjustly tortured and murdered for me? The story swirled in my head like water spinning down a drain. I didn’t like death. I chose to again focus on the one who held me.
What was he doing again?
Oh yeah, digging. He was nearly done. It was a place in the dirt, just wide enough and just deep enough for a little one like me.
But why? I wanted to live. I wanted him to carry me through this grand life. There was so much to see! Places I longed to go. Why won’t he just take me there already?!
He bent way down on elbows and knees, not afraid of the earth that now dirtied his white garments. He brought his palm up so close to his face so that we were face to face with one another. I longed to gaze into those fiery eyes again, but a new found shame kept my gaze held downward, toward the grave he had just constructed for me. I wanted to understand. I thought looking into his eyes would give me answers, but I feared they would only convict me instead.
I had been rather awful, I pondered. Assuming God would burry me and all. I recognized the anger I had already begun to harbor in my heart toward the Maker.
Where did all of these emotions come from? The day had nearly just begun.
I bravely looked upward at the one who held me, locking eyes with him. Only love came spewing out. Only awe. Somehow, even though I knew now I had been quite naughty, I could feel that he was proud of me. My heart raced with jubilee - salve to the questions that haunted me on our very short journey thus far.
“I’m sorry” my heart spoke to him who knew my thoughts before I could begin to open my mouth to utter a sound.
“I love you” was his response, His voice thundering with the excellence of a hundred orchestras, a melody to awaken nations, hearts, and souls.
But then why did I find myself being lowered into the hole? Had the Maker just lied? I thought he loved me…
Doubt crept in again. I was placed in a bed of dirt, the grave he had prepared as soon as my eyes firstly opened to see the light of day.
His eyes were steady, never unlocking from mine, and they were filled with confidence and peace. Though I found myself shaking, he was unshaken. No trace of doubt was found within his gaze. Again, only love.
That was the last thing I saw.
Love.
Then, darkness.
I screamed for help!
“Maker! Please!”
He laid soil on top of me, gently at first, then pressed and pressed until all of me was silenced under the pressure. I thought I had been forsaken. I longed for the light that warmed me, yet now I had been tucked into folds of cold ground, encapsulating me in the darkness of it all. I did not want to die. I ached and pleaded with the Maker to bring me back up to safety, to the surface, where I could be seen and heard, and to feel the crisp fresh air on my skin - life. I longed for life. My body kicked and screamed and reached for it but I could not find it. It had proven to be a futile fight, a striving after the wind I no longer could feel under the piles of dirt that constricted my frail lungs. The silence suffocated me, and hope slipped away.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I felt the weight of a thousand oceans pouring overtop of me through the soil. It poured like heavy rain and I gasped for breath but only inhaled water and mud.
“The Maker is killing me!”
“I don’t want to die!”
The tears poured out, only to meet the endless waters I now found myself in. In my desperation, I closed my eyes and prayed I would be saved from this disaster. I longed to be in the Maker’s hands once again. If he could hear my thoughts, I told him it was okay if we didn’t go anywhere or do anything. As long as I could be back in his embrace. I imagined those eyes of fire, and could feel he still looked upon me from above this heap of mud that covered me. He beckoned me to trust, and his love was tangible even through the dark that surrounded me. Somehow, I sensed that he was right there with me, in the darkness, in the pressure, in the dying.
And then, I breathed my last.
Or so I thought. I had been asleep for what felt like decades. Maybe it was only a couple of days? In my grogginess, I tried to recollect myself, trying to figure out what had happened. “Where was I?”
My body ached - sore and bruised - limbs tingling as if I laid on them wrong and they were just waking up themselves.
Wait, limbs?!
Did I have limbs?!
I looked around and though it was dark, I could see the faint outline of brown limbs that reached downward, deep into the soil beneath.
“Roots!”
I could see green limbs reaching upward toward the surface.
“Sprouts!”
My memory began to return as the excitement awoke something within me - hope springing forth with new life.
“He buried me, but now, I live?”
As soon as I could think it, I felt a stretching, pulling sensation, and suddenly, my roots went deeper, and my sprouts shot forth from the dirt and toward the sky. I could see! My body became a thick brown trunk and I grew in stature, branches stretching wide as if to give the world a hug. Bright green leaves sprung forth in every direction, more magnificent than I could ever imagine. Flowers of every color accompanied them, a welcome home parade fit for a king.
“The King - the Maker! Where was he now?”
I looked and beheld, a man with white garments, nail-scarred wrists, and dirt on his sleeves. Instead of being held in his massive hands, he now stood beneath the shade I provided. Still, he radiated with greatness more vast than many armies. He reached his arm up toward me, and grabbed a fruit from my limbs. That’s when I noticed my branches were rich with many fruits. Oh, the excellence of it all! If only I had known sooner the glories of the plans he had for me!
The Maker grinned with satisfaction as he took a bite of the juicy, colorful fruit. Joy reached down to my deepest roots and I felt them dig deeper into rich soil like toes burrowed in moist sand at the seashore. Again, my body and arms felt stretched and pulled, and I extended upward and side to side, now the most splendid oak tree in all the land. Children ran up to the Maker and found haven from the heat of the day under the shade of my branches. They freely plucked fruit and climbed limbs and giggled with the King. A joy I had never known made its way deeper into my soul than my roots in the ground.
“This is better than I could have ever dreamed!” Why did I ever doubt? The Maker had a plan for me all along. I had a purpose. Now I remembered: it was always written within my DNA, even when I was just a little seed. The process hurt but it was worth it. I closed my eyes and listened as wind rustled through the abundance of leaves that were now my clothing. A melody of worship danced through the air, making its way to the ears of the Maker, who smiled up at me with the same knowing wonder from when we began. I took the time to study him now, from way up here, and he was the most beautiful sight an oak tree like me could ever see!
I remembered his scars. I remembered the story of how he became a man on my behalf. Images of his beatings, the insults, the crown of thorns, and the nails. Creation itself mocked the Creator. They tortured him and hung him from a tree. He cried and bled and breathed his last and was tucked away in a grave constructed just for him. He was buried in the belly of the earth, forsaken and alone, hidden in darkness until just the right time. Three days later, he rose. The stone rolled away, revealing the glory that had always been within.
Revelation flooded my mind and penetrated my heart and soul. A seed must die to bring forth life. In my own suffering, I could now comprehend what he had walked through for me, and death didn’t scare me anymore. He had conquered it. The pressure. The darkness. The rain. It all had a purpose. It was changing me. I was being perfected through what I suffered, just as he had as he dangled from a cross for me. A peace entered every crevice of my being and settled there. I knew him now more than I could have as a seed, and I was grateful.
“Thank you,” my eyes told him, but knew only a thousand lifetimes could sing to him how thankful I truly was, which is exactly what I planned to do.
After finishing his fruit, he met my gaze again, golden love pouring from him once more. He smiled ear to ear, opened his hands, and revealed many seeds. He tucked them in his pocket and clapped his hands.
“I’ve got work to do” he announced as he winked at me and turned away. He skipped off, a few of the children dangling from his robe as they followed. A little further away, I saw him grab just one single seed from his pocket. Crouching down to the earth, he looked at the seed with tender confidence, and with the other hand, he began to dig.