Unless a grain of wheat...

I took this photo in my favorite park this morning. I've been taking a lot of photos of grass and wheat like plants lately. The phrase "unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies..." has been running through my head with a great deal of frequency recently.

I've been dreading the coming of winter in many ways this year. More than just the usual ways. I've dreaded more than the colder weather, or the snow. I've dreaded the season of death, and dormancy. Of cold and waiting and wondering and watching.

Last winter was long, and very marked by pain, and, as this winter has drawn nearer, I've found myself fighting against it, wondering whether or not I would be able to survive such a season again.

"unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies..." Over and over, on repeat in my head. Grass and wheat capturing my attention each time I venture to the park with my camera.

I long for my life to be one marked by growth, by newness, by the things of spring. I long for it to be fruitful.

"unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it cannot bear fruit."

May my life be one that is fruitful, even if the coming of fruit must first be marked with death.