Dormant Seed

My dear friend and I have been walking similar roads of late. We both have almost identical dreams that seem to be dead. God delights in the faith that causes us to place our dream-seed in his hands. He buries it deep in the dirt and allows the harshest of elements to seal it in it's tomb... but is it a tomb? It's not that it's died; it's only begun to live.

It is Winter.
And outside the trees are skeletons and ice coats everything.
All is dormant,
And the world waits with eager hope to feel the breath of spring.
And the birdsong
That has filled the earth with wild joy, and hope and life
Is all quiet,
As they huddle in the branches to escape from winter's strife.
And my heart, too,
Feels the fridged cold and icy finger's grip,
While a dream seed
Lays a shivering beneath the soil in sleep.
And it may seem
Like the seed is dead and Spring will never grace the world above,
But in it's tomb,
God is working on the tiny seed in unforgotten love.
And when time's right,
I will see a sprout as birds begin to laugh and ice starts weeping,
And I'll know then,
That the seed I thought He'd killed was only sleeping.

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."
John 12:24