Death of a seed

There were pieces of me all over the floor where I shattered. There are some of those who helped me pick some up, some who carefully stepped aside to avoid the mess, some who stepped on them on their way out, and others who stood there and rationalized how I could have prevented the fall. I lay there, picking up one splinter at a time, burning with anger and shame as those empty words bubbled over them. My mother and father, this teacher and that friend, this pastor, that other. I saw their outer shells, hollow with treachery and feeble love. I wallowed in bitterness.

Then God came and picked me up, and He told me that everyone will be held accountable for their own lives. He told me to look at Him and forget myself. As I moved towards him, the splinters were absorbed into the earth and a new figure sprouted from within, the very embodiment of true love.

He kissed me three times.

With each kiss, my skin broke open and my mind chimed three times,

'How happy are the seeds that sprout into root!
How happy the root that burgeon into stem!
How happy the stalk that bursts into blossom!'

The light figure walked to those others, the frail bodies standing over where the pieces had been, and He touched them so slightly. They broke open, like an egg, spilling out the sadness and pain that were bubbling into the empty words they had given me. Immediately I bent down to wash it away as if I saw my reflection in it. I stood up; my own heart welled up in compassion for them like fruit in the season of ripening. I forgot my bitterness, and I loved them.

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My father once told me, "Your happiness in life depends upon whether you see everyone around you as a devil or an angel."

I replied, "No, my happiness depends on whether I can see everyone around me as human or not."