John hauled his worn sack over his shoulder, each step heavy with the weight of his day. The sun beat down on his calloused hands, sweat trickling into his eyes, but he kept moving, scattering seeds across the parched earth. His heart ached with each step, remembering the words of the teacher, Jesus, from days before.
"Listen carefully," he had said, voice echoing in the minds of all who heard. "A sower went out to sow..."
John remembered the crowd pressing in, eager to hear more. But today, the fields were empty save for the crows circling overhead, waiting. His belly rumbled, but he pushed on, mind fixed on the task at hand.
The path forks ahead, leading to three different fields. Each stretch of land was distinct in character, reflecting the varying fates that seeds might encounter. Years of farming had taught John the varied nature of each patch, and each offered a separate challenge to his fragile crop. Yet, hardship was nothing new. John remembered his wife Miriam, her face pale and eyes glaing as she succumbed to illness. He hadn't been able to save her, and some days, he wasn't sure he could save himself. But, as Jesus had told him one evening, "Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness."
He began where the path was hardest, the soil rocky and unforgiving. As he sowed, he thought of the teacher's words, "Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil, but when the sun rose they were scorched. And since they had no root, they withered away."
He could see it happening before his eyes. The seeds clung to the surface, hopeful but helpless. The birds swooped in, hungry and quick.
John’s heart grew heavy as he watched his efforts get devoured. A bitter taste filled his mouth, but he pressed on, moving to the next stretch of land. Here, the soil was rich, but thorns choked the ground, vines tangled and wild. Again, he rushed his arms through the air and scattered the seeds. The crop might sprout, but it wouldn't last. Thorns would reign. He had seen it before.
Servitude to thorns demanded all-or-nothing. If he weeded, he was saved. If he did not, his harvest wither, taken by vines. Tears threatened his eyes, blurring his view, as he wrestled with the thought. He pushed thorny vines away with his free hand as he walked, biding crying as he did.
As he crossed into the third field, the soft dirt breathing under his bare feet, he looked up to the sky, softly whispering Miriam’s name. This soil was different—fertile, well-kept. He let the seed flow from his hand, falling into the earth as he prayed for rain, for light, for miracle.
Yet he knew only he could make this happen. He had to water the seeds, protect them till they sprung golden heights. Relief swept over him. Grief still persisted, but hope stood once more.
As he finished, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Jesus, his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken understanding.
"Your faithfulness has not gone unseen, John," Jesus said, his voice soft yet firm. "In time, you will see the fruit of your labor."
John couldn’t lift his eyes to him, but he felt a warmth spreading through him, a promise of grace and mercy. He nodded, grateful for the silence that followed. He didn't need words. He wasn’t looking for reasons. His body had felt peace and knew why he could trust, that his fields would flourish. mirably.
That night, as John lay under the starlit sky, he listened to the whispers carried by the wind. He didn't need the teacher to tell him what it meant. He felt the certainty in his bones, in the rhythm of his heartbeat. He had scattered seeds. He had watered them. Now, he would wait.
As the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon the next morning, John went out to his fields. His eyes widened as he saw the green shoots pushing through the soil, reaching for the sky. A soft smile spread across his face as he watched the miracle unfolding before him. The seeds he had sown in faith were taking root. And he would not need convincing or explanation. The promise was in sight. The miracle had begun.
John hauled his worn sack over his shoulder, each step heavy with the weight of his day. The sun beat down on his calloused hands, sweat trickling into his eyes, but he kept moving, scattering seeds across the parched earth. His heart ached with each step, remembering the words of the teacher, Jesus, from days before.
"Listen carefully," he had said, voice echoing in the minds of all who heard. "A sower went out to sow..."
John remembered the crowd pressing in, eager to hear more. But today, the fields were empty save for the crows circling overhead, waiting. His belly rumbled, but he pushed on, mind fixed on the task at hand.
The path forks ahead, leading to three different fields. Each stretch of land was distinct in character, reflecting the varying fates that seeds might encounter. Years of farming had taught John the varied nature of each patch, and each offered a separate challenge to his fragile crop. Yet, hardship was nothing new. John remembered his wife Miriam, her face pale and eyes glaing as she succumbed to illness. He hadn't been able to save her, and some days, he wasn't sure he could save himself. But, as Jesus had told him one evening, "Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness."
He began where the path was hardest, the soil rocky and unforgiving. As he sowed, he thought of the teacher's words, "Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil, but when the sun rose they were scorched. And since they had no root, they withered away."
He could see it happening before his eyes. The seeds clung to the surface, hopeful but helpless. The birds swooped in, hungry and quick.
John’s heart grew heavy as he watched his efforts get devoured. A bitter taste filled his mouth, but he pressed on, moving to the next stretch of land. Here, the soil was rich, but thorns choked the ground, vines tangled and wild. Again, he rushed his arms through the air and scattered the seeds. The crop might sprout, but it wouldn't last. Thorns would reign. He had seen it before.
Servitude to thorns demanded all-or-nothing. If he weeded, he was saved. If he did not, his harvest wither, taken by vines. Tears threatened his eyes, blurring his view, as he wrestled with the thought. He pushed thorny vines away with his free hand as he walked, biding crying as he did.
As he crossed into the third field, the soft dirt breathing under his bare feet, he looked up to the sky, softly whispering Miriam’s name. This soil was different—fertile, well-kept. He let the seed flow from his hand, falling into the earth as he prayed for rain, for light, for miracle.
Yet he knew only he could make this happen. He had to water the seeds, protect them till they sprung golden heights. Relief swept over him. Grief still persisted, but hope stood once more.
As he finished, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Jesus, his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken understanding.
"Your faithfulness has not gone unseen, John," Jesus said, his voice soft yet firm. "In time, you will see the fruit of your labor."
John couldn’t lift his eyes to him, but he felt a warmth spreading through him, a promise of grace and mercy. He nodded, grateful for the silence that followed. He didn't need words. He wasn’t looking for reasons. His body had felt peace and knew why he could trust, that his fields would flourish. mirably.
That night, as John lay under the starlit sky, he listened to the whispers carried by the wind. He didn't need the teacher to tell him what it meant. He felt the certainty in his bones, in the rhythm of his heartbeat. He had scattered seeds. He had watered them. Now, he would wait.
As the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon the next morning, John went out to his fields. His eyes widened as he saw the green shoots pushing through the soil, reaching for the sky. A soft smile spread across his face as he watched the miracle unfolding before him. The seeds he had sown in faith were taking root. And he would not need convincing or explanation. The promise was in sight. The miracle had begun.
