When life looms large and my efforts are not enough, you whisper it quiet:
Make yourself small.
Make yourself as a seed, curled in the dark earth, invisible but for the Father’s eye.
Make yourself sown, hurled by another’s hand and abandoned to the death of this dry husk.
Make yourself soft, able to receive the water of your germination.
When life looms large, make yourself small.
From this hiddenness, something radicle emerges.
From this burial, life will swell and root, a life that is stronger than the push of the world, as strong in this small place as any of the forces of nature. Here is the secret of the kingdom of heaven, the mystery of the cross, and the origin of being.
Do you feel it? Futility? Emptiness? The rattle of lifeless limbs? Then lean in close, leave all this striving, place yourself there between finger and thumb.
It is time to sow.