THE SEEDLING
by Robert Fitt
The prayer of a humble, penitent, soul to his loving Father in Heaven
I am a seedling, Father. The fire of Thy chastening has cracked my crusty shell, and my tender shoot of hope is barely peeking over it's broken hull.
I am filled with wonder . . . astonished at the possibilities, but fearful that my tiny shoot will not grow to fill its place in the forest of your expectations.
I see others with their lofty branches giving welcome shade to those who cower beneath them, a safe haven in a storm; and I fear that the fragile shoot—that is all that I am just now—can never grow so tall, or give such solace to the weak or weary.
I see so many things in this darkened world that can crush, or starve or trample my fragile stem. Yet, as I look toward the light and gratefully acknowledge Thy hand, I know that my happiness—yea , my very survival—depends upon Thee; and, feeling of Thy love, I am grateful.
I know that every mighty oak was once a tiny seedling and felt the selfsame doubts, but, reaching for the light, grew far beyond its feeble expectations; and I am filled with wonder to know that you will do the same for me. As my seedling seeks the light of Christ and shuns the darkness, so will my heart attune to Thee, and Your hopes will become my hopes, Your dreams my dreams, Your thoughts my thoughts, and Your strength my strength.
I am grateful beyond expression to know that heaven will open its windows to such as I, so
insecure and fragile in my growth, and light a sure path to faith—and exaltation.
