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A field, covered in rich dark soil, ready for a life of beauty and color. Seeds of wildflowers sprinkled into the dirt, watered, bathed in sunlight, begin to grow.

The flowers begin their  journey of rising to the surface. The water in the ground feeds the roots and give the plants strength. Finally, the flowers reach their faces to the sun,  blooms beginning to open as they feel the warmth of the light. Rejoicing in their potential and hoping to share their joy with the world.

While the flowers anticipate the warmth and glory of blooming, other plants start to appear close by. The flowers, unsuspecting, welcome the plants as friends, hoping to share the warmth with them. The flowers, full of love to give, give too much. The weeds grow too close, they loom over the flowers, blocking the sun and it’s warmth. They steal the water from the ground and create a dark shadow over the flowers.

The flowers try to reason with the weeds, to reassure them that there is enough space for all of them to grow and flourish. The weeds mock the flowers and their beauty, calling them weak and insignificant. They thrive as they deplete the flowers of all hope and joy, all color and luster for life.

Soon the field is covered in weeds, chocking out any life besides it’s own.  Overtaking, overgrowing, delighting in their cleverness and strength.

But the farmer sees the field and burns with anger at the weeds. He has compassion on the flower and longs to see it’s beauty.

Diligently, carefully, he gets on his knees and pulls the weeds out from the soil. He removes one at a time, being careful to not let any seeds fall between his fingers.

He smooths out the soil and waters the flowers, encouraging them to not give up. He speaks to the flowers, in a gentle, kind voice.

Timid and afraid, shaken and broken, the flowers resist at first. They cower and refuse to look into the light, ashamed at their weakness, ashamed of their colorless blooms and wilted leaves. Still the farmer tends to them. Nothing but love is poured out over them. Slowly, meekly, the flowers turn their faces to the voice. They drink in the farmers words and soak up his water.

Little by little they gain strength, the color returns to their blossoms. They dare to hope for a joy they had once had, a joy that had vanished in the shadows.

The farmer, is vigilant in his protection over his flowers, yet weeds continue to try and take root, they threaten to overtake the field while promising to change and share the space.

But now, girded with love and truth, the flowers resist the weeds. They do not cower or shake or give over their field. They have overcome the shadows, they have seen the goodness of the farmer and put their trust in His provision. They keep their faces pointing towards the sun, knowing that the sun is their strength, their courage and their life.

The farmer has given the flowers everything they need to flourish, bloom, and bring joy to the world. What once was  field of darkness, is now a field of beauty. A field of hope.

“For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” Matthew 23:12

(For those of you who didn’t pick up on the imagery…. The field is life, new life, filled with wonder and hope. The flowers are your soul, your heart, your mind. The Sun is Christ, who gives strength and warmth. The weeds are lies, toxic people ripping you down, the farmer is God the Father, protecting and providing. The water is the Holy Spirit, nurturing, guiding, refreshing your soul. )