My eyes scan the endless landscape, drinking in the diverse shades ranging from deep emerald and muted sage to vibrant chartreuse. Colors that others see every day but are rare seasonal treasures here in Southwest Arizona.
The recent heavy rains had given birth to this magnificent display. The potential for beauty had been there the whole time in the form of dormant seeds. Seeds that only needed moisture to coax the sprouts from their dark cocoons.
Those dormant seeds possessed vast potential. But I couldn't see it until it was revealed to me.
With the naked eye, we may only observe the sparse, dry land before us. Nothing to inspire and tantalize the senses for miles around. But what we thought was dead and unsalvageable springs to life with mere droplets of water.
For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; Yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant.
(Job 14: 7-9)
We can often relate to this process in our everyday life.
All the years you’ve prayed for that wayward daughter or unsaved husband, with no results. How many times you’ve stood gazing out over the parched land, where you’ve scattered seeds of faith and watered them with your tears–day in and day out. Still, your careful attention yields no harvest.
But our harvest season does not always align with God’s timing.
You have no way of knowing what is coming to life just beneath the hard soil that will break through when you least expect it. One day, you’ll make that trek once more to look out over all that you have sowed. Your tired eyes will strain to see life–any sign of hope–and your heart will flutter as you take it in:
There! Is that a patch of green on that hill? Oh, look at the tiny coral bud on that vine!
Faith, my friend, can never rely on what you see alone or what is visible on the surface. Faith looks at the barren landscape, dotted with crumbling rocks and gnarled deadwood, and envisions an ocean of delicate violets and vibrant poppies as far as the eye can see, with heavy dew glistening off the vibrant sunflowers as they sway in the breeze.
The eyes of faith see the potential of life, whereas our frail humanity sees extinction.
God is faithful, my friend. If he has promised a mighty harvest, he will bring it to pass. It doesn’t matter what you see–or don’t see–in this season. In God’s time, the ground will yield a beautiful display that will be worth the wait. I promise.
In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.
(Ecclesiastes 11:6)
Love,
Regina
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