A Few Dusty Kernals

When I was three years old I found a few dusty old kernels of corn on the floor of my grandfather's shed.  They caught my eye and like most little boys I put them in my pocket with some stones.  When I arrived at home, I decided that they needed a proper burial.  I had watched old Mr. Zucker, the caretaker of the church cemetery down the street, when he dug the graves, and then after the funeral, lowered the casket and covered the grave.  I knew exactly what to do.  I found just the right spot for my “grave” in the backyard.  I made a little valley, at the bottom of which I dug a hole about six inches deep, placed the kernels carefully and covered them with dirt.  For some reason I thought a bridge over the grave was needed.  I found a board behind the garage and used it.  Finally I made a cross with two twigs and some kite string.  Much to my surprise several weeks later something green was coming out of my grave!  It threatened to topple my bridge by the time I took my dad out to see what was going on.  He announced I was growing corn!  The bridge and cross were tossed aside--this was no longer a grave!  It was alive and needed watering and care.  Before we boiled our total yield of three ears of corn, my dad asked me to give him one of the ears.  Reluctantly, I gave it up ... I had so few to begin with ... until he told me we could use these kernels to plant more next year.  Next year we would have enough to feed the whole family.  In his own way, dad had given me a vision of what could be and I gladly gave it up because I trusted him.

This is so like our heavenly father who moves us beyond the grave to what is and what will be.  Because I trust Him I gladly give up myself for the abundant life He promises.