Laurel Thomas

seed Archive

Sunday

21

August 2016

0

COMMENTS

Precious Seed in the River

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Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.
Psalm 126 5-6

Well, crum. It was a loss. Not a big one. Just a disappointment.

Okay. More than one owie had gathered like a bunch of bullies on my playground. I still had a happy heart. No big deal.

Except it was. I struggled for days and couldn’t shrug off the pain of seeing what I’d hoped for slip away. I couldn’t convince myself it didn’t matter.

That’d been an unhealthy bio of mine for too long. Stuff and restuff. Hope the hurt disappeared out of sheer will power.

But when the hurt wouldn’t go away, I went to the Lord. Sure enough, He had an answer. It was about precious seed.

Precious seed to a farmer was the seed he planted when planting was costly. He could’ve ground it up and made bread for his hungry children. Instead he planted it. With tears. And with an eye toward the future.

The loss wasn’t theoretical. I couldn’t pretend that what I hoped and dreamed for hadn’t slipped away. I couldn’t confuse denial with faith. Faith acknowledged loss for what it was. A seed that was precious in God’s eyes.

He cared every time I’d been ripped off. He wept at the loss that tore at my gut. Disappointment wasn’t His tool to make me humble. He was my Friend.

I didn’t agree with the doctrine of “Well, it was God’s will.” Or, “You just never know about the will of God.” The will of God was and is good because He’s good. He valued the treasure of my expectations.

My loss, as a seed, carried life. His promise was that if I planted it, He’d tend it well. It would grow into a tree that carried life on every branch. Life so big it kept multiplying in more ways than ever looked possible in one tiny seed.

It was the seed I was tempted to grind up and eat. The one I didn’t realize was more precious to God than to me. If I’d trust Him that it mattered.

I might have felt a little plundered when I dropped that loss into the soil of His heart. But I had an eye to the future. The seed of loss planted in eternity wasn’t only noticed, it was cherished.

Its harvest will feed a lot of people. And turn grief into joy. Because of precious seed, those who hope in Him will never be disappointed or put to shame.
I Peter 2:6

Thursday

14

May 2015

3

COMMENTS

Rain and the Hidden Seed

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Here’s today’s answer to my What’s next, Abba?

I’ve watered your land and broken an assignment of drought. Even as I pour out My goodness on the earth, know that I am breaking drought over you, beloved.

My rain of life and light comes to refresh and fulfill the next measure of your destiny. There’s a new place in My plan, not just for you, but for My people and those you’ve prayed for.

Rain washes an accumulation of pain and difficulty. It nourishes hidden seed, the seed you planted years ago by receiving My Word. You forgot your obedience because it looked so insignificant. But I didn’t forget.

It is imperishable seed, which though hidden, waits for the rain of My Spirit. It is a promise you thought life left behind, that will sprout before your eyes in the days to come.

Rain seems inconvenient. Muddy feet track into your clean house. You put off morning walks in hope of sunshine tomorrow. But rain is My answer to the cry of your heart. Don’t miss seeing My voice speak in its downpour.

The skies rain hope and expectation, targeting the hidden and releasing it from ground packed hard by dry seasons and hard times.

So look forward to seeing the life of those seeds you’ve forgotten. Their harvest will surprise you. After all, does a stalk of corn look like its seed? Does a ripe, yummy tomato look like what you stuffed in the dirt?

I’m a good Abba and I love to amaze you with My sweetness. The harvest will be rich and satisfying, designed by My hands, just for you.

Enjoy these soggy days. I’m speaking!

Shalom,

Laurel Thomas

Monday

10

March 2014

7

COMMENTS

Fortress in the River

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My dear techie brother sent me his camera for my trip to Israel. He packed it with care and sent it on a fast track to Oklahoma. It was such a kind gesture. I didn’t have the heart to explain my history with cameras.

The day before departure, I spread out the contents of my suitcase on the dining room floor. Our daughter looked them over. She reminded me in her sweet way that I could save the space and use my Iphone’s camera. My homecoming pictures proved what we both already knew.

“Wow, that’s a lot of rocks, Mom.”

They were important at the time. I just couldn’t remember why.

There were some things I did remember, though. Things I couldn’t find on my camera. They were the friends my sister and I met. They were the messages I heard the Lord speak as we stood beside those rocks.

Our guide, Malcolm, told us stories of heroism, devotion to God, and sacrifice for what was precious. What I learned in those moments and at those sites became photos etched on my heart.

Masada was one of those places. Herod the Great constructed Masada, which means “fortress” in Hebrew. It was cut out of a mountain on the western end of the Judean desert, overlooking the Dead Sea. Herod was an insane dictator, but genius builder. He constructed it as a personal refuge.

Set upon a mountain in the middle of a barren wilderness, with its own water and food sources, Masada was impenetrable. Almost. Seventy-five years after Herod’s death a small group of Jews overcame the Roman garrison at Masada. After the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, more of their people joined them. Over 1,000 Jews lived there for three years.

The Roman governor, Flavius Silva, had enough of their defiance. To penetrate the impenetrable he had to find a hidden weakness, a vulnerability to the fine-tuned warfare of Roman forces.

He found it. Thousands of Jewish prisoners of war were forced to build a massive rampart of stones and beaten earth that extended along the western side of the fortress. For over a year they worked unhindered while the Jews inside Masada watched. In the end, the same Hebrew slaves moved a battering ram up the ramp and breached the walls.

What the governor found was not a weakness. It was a virtue. Masada was taken because those who looked from the mountain fortress above refused to fire on their own people. The governor’s perverse scheme used loyalty and devotion against those unwilling to violate it.

Years before in the same land of Israel, Jesus’ disciples were at the end of a three-day ministry session to thousands. They were tired and depleted. They wanted everyone to go home. At the end of their strength, they were fresh out of compassion.

But love thought about a hungry trip home. Love fed a multitude at the end of a long day. Love gave when there were no resources left. 

There is an enemy of love. It is competitive. It is rooted in poverty. It carefully measures everything given. After all, giving depletes my resources when my own supply is so meager. If I give kindness, what if I’m used? If I give forgiveness, what if I’m rejected?  What if my loyalty is betrayed?

But love has a voice. “Start with a seed,” it whispers.

It’s taken me a long time to learn love by sitting in the presence of Love Himself. I tend to look at significance in big accomplishments. He sees the eternal in my every day decisions to choose love.

Six-year old Gracie looks at my hands. My veins bulge, age spots freckle and knuckles protrude.

“Nana, are you old?” she asks.

She’s just checking. She isn’t sure how old is old. She just wants to know if I’ll be sticking around.

I want to stick around. I want to extend love as a seed. Who knows where that harvest will go and who it will feed, if I’m brave enough to plant it and believe in its power.

Rooted in His supply, it travels farther than I can imagine. It extends where I could never go. It prevails over my poverty. It answers death when it comes. If an army uses my brother to breach my defenses, love helps me stand fast. It proves itself strong in every test the enemy launches against it.

Love arises with skin on every time I let His supply determine my giving. The Jews at Masada knew their end. Still, they chose love. In the end, they found the victory only love could win.