by Nan Jones @NanJonesAuthor
The tractor heaved across the rocky field pulling its plow. Sharp blades rolled and spun across the fallow ground turning and churning and making all things new. The soil once hardened by a blistering sun and years of neglect now gave forth its yield of soil silkened by the plow’s persistence.
The time for planting had arrived.
The time for resurrection had begun.
The farmer rubbed the seeds between thumb and fingers feeling their crusty exterior. Carefully he placed them in the furrows and smoothed the newly-tilled soil over each and every one, gently pressing, quietly praying for harvest.
The time for planting had arrived.
The time for resurrection had begun.
Sun baked. Heaven watered. And the season of brokenness and dying to self began in each seed planted by the farmer’s hand.
Life stirred within each seed — potential, purpose, destiny — but its life was kept bound by the crusty shell. With each day of sun and faithful showers, the work of resurrection began. The hard shells began to crack, slowly at first, with exuberance by and by as new life came forth stretching, reaching for the sky.
[bctt tweet=”Life stirred within each seed — potential, #purpose, destiny — but its life was kept bound by the crusty shell. @NanJonesAuthor #broken ” username=”inspireafire”]
Ah, resurrection power.
To have new life, there must be a breaking of the old, a dying to self — there must be a yielding or surrender, if you will, to the hand of God. There must be trust in the process.
Long ago, a crown of thorns became a crown of glory.
A crucifixion became a resurrected life.
And this young girl became a woman of God.
Selah
[bctt tweet=”Fallow Ground, Seeds, and Resurrection Power @NanJonesAuthor #WalkingInNewnessOfLife” username=”inspireafire”]
*Photo credits: http://www.pixabay.com
