Different, But Still The Same

A seed and a plant can look like two completely different things.

One fits between your fingers.

The other can grow tall enough to provide shade, carry branches and bear fruit.

Yet they belong to the same story.

The seed does not become a bigger version of itself.

It becomes something else.

Perhaps that is what makes transformation so interesting.

We often think becoming means becoming more of what we already are. More disciplined. More capable. More refined.

But sometimes becoming means taking a form we could not have imagined from where we started.

And the strange part is that the difference does not erase the connection.

The plant still carries the story of the seed.

Perhaps our lives work that way too.

What we repeatedly think, practise, tolerate and pursue slowly takes shape in us.

A thought becomes a habit.

A habit becomes character.

Character eventually becomes visible.

We may not notice the formation because most of it happens quietly.

But time has a way of bringing hidden things into the light.

Paul uses the seed to explain something even greater: what is sown is not what eventually appears, yet there is continuity between them.

Perhaps that is also the comfort of becoming.

We may not yet look like what we are meant to be.

That does not mean nothing is happening.

Some things simply need time, soil and a season.

So perhaps the question is not only, "What do I want to become?"

It is also,

"What am I sowing?"

Because eventually, something will grow.

And when it does, it may look very different from the seed.

But it will still tell its story.