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I found a little seed one day, no larger than a crumb,
It was just a thought, a fleeting dream—but what might it become?

So I tucked it in my heart, planted deep and still,
And waited wishful, day by day, imagining, until…

Bright one dawn I woke to find, the seed within my heart
Had sprouted shoots, extended roots, invaded every part.

It climbed the corners of my soul, it flowered in my mind,
Oh, the possibility, fragility entwined.

I loved my dream. It was, to me, both ecstasy and ache,
A fetal hope, unformed, and yet alive in me; awake!

Then on an ordinary day, with nothing else amiss,
A storm blew through and flung my dream into the great abyss.

It plucked it from my heart just like a weed caught in the wind,
Fractured in the angry air as though it’d never been.

How do you mourn what’s not yet born? What never truly lived—
The dreams that die, the dark night’s cry for the things God did not give?

My heart was hollow. Vacant. Numb. So I asked if Jesus might
Climb inside the emptiness and hold me through the night.

Within His humble arms I found my sorrow’s full release,
And sometime in the midnight watch, a quiet, steady peace.

“Be the Gardener of my soul,” I whispered in His ear.
“Till the longings, plant the dreams, take away the fear.”

In that moment (to my shock) the prayer I’d dreaded most—
Those daunting words, “Your will be done,” became my treasured boast.

For human hands weren’t meant to hold universal power,
But just to hold the hand of God through joy and darkest hour.

10 Comments

  • Avatar Ariel says:

    Amen.
    JUST did a study this morning with my kids on Psalm 2:12- “Blessed are all who take refuge IN HIM” and Adelyn brought up the synonymity of “Your will be done” of the Lord’s Prayer.
    This is lovely.

  • Avatar Laura Roberts says:

    That’s beautiful Jeanne!! So well said. Thanks for posting!! I’ve learned in life we must grieve the death of dreams and our ideas of what life “should” look like just like loosing a loved one. I’ve watched people loose jobs, spouses, a dream held for a child that suddenly shifts based on their decisions, the ability to have children, arms and legs, health, independence, and so much more. It’s our expectation of what life “should” look like. I’m always going before The Father asking him what do YOU want my life to look like… not what the world says it should. He tells me often, “stay in your lane Laura!! Don’t worry about everyone else. I have a purpose for you that is unique to you! And only you can do!” Just think Jeanne …. one day you will have 4 sons instead of 1!! Sure miss you guys!!!

    • Jeanne Harrison Jeanne Harrison says:

      Oh, love this Laura!! Thank you!! We miss you guys too – my memories with all of you are among my nearest and dearest.

  • Avatar Jen Schutz says:

    Thank you for eloquently sharing such heart with us. Beautiful picture of God’s love in the midst of heartbreak and sorrow.

  • Avatar Rhonda Watwood says:

    Beautiful. My girls arrived in my life and they were 24 and 26 years old. They are precious and I adore my son’s wife, but that little brown eyed girl that was not to be still is clear as day in my mind. God is good and I love this poem.

    • Jeanne Harrison Jeanne Harrison says:

      Oh Rhonda, thank you! It means a lot to me to hear others share similar feelings. So thankful for you and the wonderful role you played in my little Heidi’s life!

  • Avatar Dennis says:

    Wow. Very heartfelt, intelligent, and faithful. This applies to more than not having a baby of a certain gender, at least for me. This is a wonderfully helpful poem. Thank you.

  • Avatar Nikki says:

    I have come to believe that God’s plan for my life seems that for always I will be the only adult in my home – that I will be the leader, the healer, the general, the plan maker, the hand holder, the decision maker, an ultimately sit at a table for 1 most nights. I am grateful for the peace, freedom and time that brings, even when it feels….not lonely, but alone.

  • Avatar Anne Wenger says:

    Very well expressed and a lovely poem.

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