As I think about my own mother this weekend, I continue to find evidence of her quiet, steady influence. She touched many lives in a patient and thoughtful way with tireless acts of service.
When I discovered her poem, “The Seed,” I thought, “That’s me…I was the heart into which she planted.” While this is true, I also continue to hear stories of many others into which she scattered seed. If you knew her, she probably wrote this about you, too.
The Seed by Jewell Burrow
I found a seed, a tiny thing
I handled it with care.
I wanted for it all the best,
I said, “Because it’s rare.”
I found a nice smooth piece of ground,
I dug a hole just so,
Down into it, I placed a seed
And longed for it to grow.
The days and weeks lapsed into months
And still, the seed not grown.
When then I learned to cultivate
Before the seed was sown.
One day, I met a little child
A precious gift of God
I thought about the little seed
In the neglected sod.
I lovingly prepared this heart,
God’s Word I planted there.
I tilled it with the love of Christ
And watered it with prayer.
Ere long into the little face
There stole a welcome smile,
A tiny hand slipped into mine.
I said, “It is worthwhile.”