The Mothering Seed

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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.”