Tearful Sowing

The field looked barren, soil beaten down by many who had trampled it in the past. Its fruit was long gone, taken by the greedy. There was nothing left, no hope of a crop ever producing again. Then I saw him. A man in the distance, walking slowly in the field, waving his hand back and forth. I could not discern what he was doing.

“What are you doing?” I said as I approached.

He quietly stopped and slowly turned his gaze toward me. His face was weathered, marked with deep wrinkles and a matted, gray beard. His clothes were tattered, worn with holes. They hung on his thin, frail frame, outlining his sagging stance. I noticed tears in his aged eyes.

“Sowing seeds,” he said.

“But this field will never grow anything. Look at it.”

He scanned the field. “They took everything I had to give, the fruit, the plants, even the roots. Then they wanted more, but I had nothing left to give. They trampled the ground, beat it down to nothing, searching for more, but I was depleted. That’s when they attacked me, blaming me that there was no more to give. They beat me down and moved on.”

“Why don’t you move on?”

His tearful eyes focused on me. Such sorrow on his face, yet the corners of his mouth rose with a slight smile. “Because I kept this hidden away,” he said as he tapped the old leather sack strung over his shoulder. “Seeds of hope.”

I looked at the seed scattered on the ground behind him. “That seed isn’t going to grow here. Why waste it on this barren place?”

He slipped his aged hand into his sack, grabbed a handful of seed and scattered it on the ground. “Because these are seeds of God’s hope.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re wasting your time. You should move on to a more fertile place.”

The man scattered another handful of seed. “It only takes one tiny seed to sprout and rise up to bear fruit.”

“Suit yourself old man,” I said with a shrug and moved on.

Those who sow in tears shall reap with joyful shouting. He who goes to and fro weeping, carrying his bag of seed, Shall indeed come again with a shout of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. – Psalm 126:5-6. (NASB)

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