I’ve been collecting seeds, mostly seeds from the ornamental flowers around the house. Each type of seed has to be handled in the right way to separate the seed from extra foliage, little pieces of leaves, fluff and sand. Petunia seeds are so small, they fall through the mesh of my finest sieve. I like working with Celosia seed. They will fall through all sieves except the finest.
Sometimes, I have to let a flower stalk ripen and dry before I can collect the seeds. Other times, I must crush the dried seed pods with my thumb. Purple Cone flowers require patients. I must wait until the flowering head is black and dried. Then I put them in a metal container with a tight lid and shake them. Sometimes, I pour the seeds from one container to another while I blow on them.
When I’m satisfied with the purified seed, I will take 10 seeds, put them in a small plastic bag with a damp paper towel and watch to see if they will germinate. Sometimes, I must wait a week before I see those little green sprouts. Sometimes nothing happens.
While doing this, it occurred to me that the people of our world are going through a similar process. We are being winnowed, crushed, sifted, and sorted.
We’ve been without regular church services for half a year. When the doors open, how many people will be there? How many will be so small that they fall through the smallest sieve, or how many won’t make it through the largest sieve. How many can’t endure a little breeze and will fly away like chaff. How many can’t stand being crushed?
Finally, I wonder, am I going to be a good seed?