The Abdication

Once a smooth and shiny seed fell on a warm, deep furrow.
And though designed for underground, she did not want to burrow.
The other seeds dove into earth and sighing, shed their casings,
But this seed stood upon the mound and looked down, hesitating.

A flying raven spied the seed, smirked secretly, and landed.
“Why they choose to die,” he said, “I’ve never understanded.”
“Do they die?” the seed asked in a voice now clearly shaken.
“Yes,” he cawed. “Rain makes them bulge and turn truly misshapen.

“Not like you, you’re black and smooth. No need for dark or hurt.
“It’s nicer here in sun and air. Stay out of that dank dirt.”
“Why then?” asked the puzzled seed. “Why throw their lives away?”
“Baser instincts, I suppose,” was all the crow could say.

“Not like you, enlightened one. You’ve found the sunny spot.
“Let them bury their potential in that stuffy ground and rot.
“You don’t have to lose yourself. It’s your life and your right
“To do important things instead of living hid from sight.”

“You are wise,” the seed replied. “My world’s not in the earth.
“I won’t waste my time or beauty squandering my worth.
“I’ll be much more productive up above where soil’s fallow.”
“My thoughts exactly,” raven said -

He ate her with one swallow.

The seed forgot her noble task. Her use above was slight.
Her earthen calling would have fruited impact of true might.
Had she survived, she would have seen the change in all her friends.
Buried alive, they too did die, but that was not their end.

For in their sacrifice of self, a paradox did grow
From dead, dark earth to bright new life, their joy did overflow.
In death she would have found her life, in losing she would gain.
In sacrificing her smooth shell, she’d birth new heads of grain.

Likewise, let us not forget the function of our form.
God grows the future of His plan through gifts of children born.
We are to introduce Him to the newest generation
Our love, our lives, our gifts resulting in His veneration

Let not the black bird’s lies of self-centeredness enchant us
Nor grasping after fashion’s wind seduce, sedate, supplant us
Let not the culture choke us with its rich and anxious hold
Nor worldly fame or beauty cram us into empty molds

Peaceful and praiseworthy is the heart that’s heavenward
In following the footsteps of our dead and risen Lord
Though dying to myself is not my fleshly inclination,
Let not the title of my story be “The Abdication.”

“So that [older Christian women] may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.” ~ Titus 2:4-5