by Lanette Kissel
(Evansville, IN U.S.A.)
“And other (seed) fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an hundred-fold.”
Luke 8: 8 (KJV)
Some of Your seed falls by the wayside
where it is overlooked and ignored.
I don’t want to be blind and barren ground
refusing to recognize Your value, oh Lord.
I don’t want to be that stubborn rock
where Your seed falls only to disintegrate
upon a heart that is arrogant and hardened,
because I must be master of my own fate.
I don’t want Your seed sifting through the cracks,
or for the tide to slowly wash it away,
if Your word falls on slippery, shifting sand
when I long for it to take root and stay.
Some of Your seed falls among the thorns,
like the ones that encircled the Savior’s head.
I don’t want to be those sharp needles,
which caused Your wounds that so freely bled.
Let me grow into the choicest of wheat,
so I can be made into the finest of bread,
so that whoever would partake of me
will find their lives by Your spirit led.
I long to be receptive and fertile soil
that will produce the strongest and deepest root,
so Your word can take residence in my soul,
and I will bear Your most amazing fruit.
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