What Are You Planting?

Seeds have a rather simple arrangement with life.

Once they are sown, they have only one option.

Grow.

They do not sit beneath the soil negotiating with the person who planted them.

They do not ask whether the ground deserves them.

They simply begin.

And perhaps that is why we should be more careful about what we plant.

Because sometimes, we sow deliberately.

Someone hurts us, and we decide they deserve a little taste of what they have served us.

A little coldness.

A little distance.

A little silence.

A little something that says, Now you know how it feels.

So we plant the seed.

And then we go about our lives.

The interesting thing about seeds, however, is that they have no understanding of our original intention.

You may have planted that seed for one person.

But the seed only knows how to grow.

And while you are replaying the scene that made you plant it, rehearsing the words you wish you had said, imagining how satisfying it would be for them to experience what they made you experience, something else is happening beneath the surface.

The seed is being nourished.

Your thoughts water it.

Your retelling fertilises it.

Your imagination gives it sunlight.

Your repeated experience of the offence gives it roots.

And eventually, what you planted for one person begins looking for somewhere else to grow.

It may find its way into another conversation.

Another relationship.

Another friendship.

Your workplace.

Your home.

Your children.

And sometimes, into the very place you considered too precious for that seed to ever enter.

That is the frightening thing about seeds.

They do not respect the boundaries of our intentions.

You may have planted resentment because of what one person did.

But resentment does not necessarily remain interested in that person.

It learns your language.

It becomes a response.

It becomes suspicion.

It becomes impatience.

It becomes the unnecessary sharpness in your voice with someone who did absolutely nothing to you.

And one day you discover that the seed you planted in one field has quietly travelled into another.

So what are you planting?

Because Scripture does not merely warn us about the harvest.

It reminds us of the law that precedes it.

“Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”
Galatians 6:7

We often read that verse as though it were primarily a warning about punishment.

But there is another way to hear it.

It is a warning about consequence.

Seeds become things.

And things become patterns.

And patterns eventually become parts of us.

That is why the stone thrown into a puddle is an interesting picture.

The stone has a source.

You know who threw it.

You know why it was thrown.

You can point to the exact place where it entered the water.

But once it enters, the ripples have their own journey.

They move outward.

Further than the stone.

Further than the hand that threw it.

Further than the reason it was thrown.

And they do not stop because the thrower has changed his mind.

They continue until they reach the shore.

Perhaps we should think about our words that way.

Our actions.

Our bitterness.

Our kindness.

Our generosity.

Our forgiveness.

Our contempt.

Our love.

Every one of them is capable of becoming a seed.

And once planted, it begins asking a very simple question:

Where else can I grow?

So before you plant something today because someone "deserves it", pause.

Before you rehearse that bitterness one more time.

Before you sharpen that response.

Before you decide to give someone a taste of their own medicine.

Ask yourself:

Am I really willing to harvest this everywhere it grows?

Because the seed may have their name on it when you plant it.

But the harvest may eventually carry yours.

So, what are you planting?