Sometimes, to be chosen
is not to be carried to the harvest,
but to fall.
A sudden tremor on the asphalt,
a rush of wind,
and you are left behind by the rushing wheels,
a solitary crimson sphere
resting upon the quiet dust.
The world moves on without pausing,
heavy with its crates, its destinations, its noise.
And you sit in the stillness of abandonment,
wondering if this quiet corner
is where your story ends.
You think it’s over.
You think the silence is final,
that the road has discarded you forever.
But God has another plan.
The sun beats down with unforgiving light.
The smooth skin wrinkles.
The vibrant color fades into bruised shadow.
The flesh softens, yields, and surrenders to
decay.
It feels like ruin.
It feels like unmaking.
You split open in the gravel,
torn apart until your deepest purpose,
the small, pale seeds sleeping in your chest,
is poured out upon the barren earth.
Then, the sky turns dark with mercy.
Thunder rolls across the quiet horizon,
and the heavens weep open their hands.
Cold rain washes over the broken pieces,
dissolving what was whole,
drowning what was pride.
Yet what looked like an ending
was only a divine invitation.
For in the dark, damp silence beneath the mud,
the brokenness stirs with resurrection.
A tiny pale root reaches downward,
gripping the stones that bruised you.
A tender green stem unfurls upward,
drinking the storm,
turning surrender into strength.
Leaves branch out toward the clearing sun.
Golden blossoms awaken like quiet promises,
whispering to the visiting bees that nothing
entrusted to the earth is ever truly lost.
Where one lonely fruit fell and perished,
a vibrant harvest now hangs,
ripening in blessed clusters beneath
the open sky.
Do not despair when you are
dropped along the way,
nor when the world breaks you
open to the dust.
When you think it is over, remember:
His hands were only planting you.
For the fall is not your destruction,
it is only the beginning of your abundance.
– Dr. Haroon Rashid
