Reflections

On Spring and Seeds

A few months ago, we were approached by a young woman interested in contributing to F&PB. Amanda Johnson is from Ottawa, Ontario and will be periodically contributing to this humble little blog. Last night Eunice and I were Skyping into the wee hours of the morning, planning future blogging adventures, catching up, and sharing in one another’s struggles. As we spoke, I was trying to find the words to describe the restlessness I’m currently feeling. Then this morning I opened my inbox only to find this gem that Amanda wrote. She beautifully described this period of waiting and anticipation; it definitely spoke to my heart! I hope her first piece touches you as well. – Becca

On Spring and Seeds

It’s Spring (finally, praise GOD!) and I keep waiting for the seeds to come! Waiting for buds to show up and remind us that trees aren’t perpetual empty grey things.

I’m waiting for my heart to start looking as pretty as it was before the heart break. She’s waiting for the strength to move on after he passed away. He’s waiting for a reminder of the happy person he was before school showed up and brought him down. Spring is a time of anticipating those buds—thinking that once we see them, the struggle is over.

This reminds me of a story that a kind woman told me about a month ago:

All around the world, as we speak, catechists are germinating wheat seeds. Literal seeds. In a little container. Like a grade school science project. You might know where this is going, but bear with me.

They have under 10 seeds, that they wrap in wet paper towel, a few days apart. The goal is to have a few seeds that are almost new, still looking mostly like seeds, a few that have started to sprout, and a few that have sprouted and look like pretty little wheat sprouts.

“What’s that?” they ask the little ones, pointing to the first few seeds.

“Seeds!”

“What’s that?” they ask, pointing to the last few sprouts

“Wheat!” they say, because they were told that they were growing wheat.

“What happened to the seed here?” they ask, motioning between the second set of wheat seeds, and the sprouts.

The seed doesn’t look at all like it did at the start. It had been nourished, and it expanded, and it had to decompose while it’s beautiful and fruitful insides grew. It had to die, to create new life. It’s a good thing the seed doesn’t have feelings, because that’s exactly what happens to us.

This Springtime struggle is different than the Winter struggle. The desolation is over, but you have to trust that the discomfort to come is a sign of life. After a year of grueling school, unending work, heartbreak, friend or family trouble, it leaves me wondering if we can handle more…

But if we allow Jesus to wash in—healing those wounds and letting His water expand our hearts again, it will be a really beautiful summer.

– Amanda

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 “You have to die a few times before you can really live.”

― Charles Bukowski

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