I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail.
and that feels a lot like life sometimes. At least life right now. There's some wreckage I don't want to explore. I don't want to use my words to find the treasures that prevail here. I'd rather just be heartbroken and walk through grief as it comes, instead of purposing with my words.
A friend told me a few weeks ago my life had been like a fallow field for a long time. Furrowed, plowed, ready for seeding, but still standing empty, waiting for the proper time. She was referring to a plethora of good, good things happening in my life right now—seeds and shoots and promises coming through from the dark, dark earth. But with growth also comes pain and these growing pains hurt worse than almost anything I've known.
I'm weeping as I write those words because I can't talk about all the things weighing on me right now—that's part of the wreckage and the seeds: both things pressed in deep places, hidden from the public eye.
The difference between wreckage and seeds though, is that one falls apart and produces nothing, and one falls apart and produces everything. And it is important to remember the difference and to keep on remembering it.
Something is breaking apart in every one of our lives. Something is giving away and changing and shifting and breaking. Some of it feels like wreckage and some of it is a seed. Some of it we need to dive straight into to see the treasures which prevail, and some of it we need to trust to the deep, dark earth and the sovereign hand of God who makes everything produce fruit in its season (Jeremiah 17:5-8).
Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. John 12:24