I have sown these seeds of foolishness, selfishness, ignorance.
Now they yield a bitter harvest, and I complain.
I turn to God in anger– How could You let these things happen to your beloved?
Fool that I am, I expect to reap beauty where I have sown garbage.
Gently He reminds me– You reap what you have sown.
And so I come to this garden and set to work, uprooting the harvest of my sin, planting something new.
The weeds grow up over my head, tangling around me, overwhelming my tired hands.
Little by little I pull up the weeds and plant precious seeds of faith and hope in soil made tender by His breaking.
And slowly, oh so slowly, the beauty grows up among the ugliness.
The weeds– they will take a long time to remove. They have taken years to sow, to grow up. They will not be removed in a day.
But God does not require a perfect garden overnight.
So I work on this corner, moving slowly along this row, planting more wisely, cultivating with care, uprooting the weeds before they can grow to take over my little flowers.
And right here, in this little place, in the midst of my ugly harvest, there is a bit of beauty.
And that beauty is enough to give me hope.
Be not deceived: God is not mocked. Whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap.