"Do not be conformed," I hear you say.
"I do not see as the world sees."
The masses celebrate the colors of the crop and the length of her fields.
But I see the toil of the planter during the heart of the harvest and it is not in vain.
In the coming season when the ground is bare the spectators will flee, for they only come for what the eyes can see.
But I see the soil and how it sits in waiting. I am near when the others have gone and I listen to its longing. The ground growns with expectation to bloom, to be seen again, to be known, yet in its season of stillness is where I am cultivating.
The harvest cannot outrun the months of barrenness, just as it cannot take credit for it's colors in bloom. Therefore it should rest in assurance of the truth.
I am He who cultivates the soil for the harvest and the heart of the planter. Whether barren or in bloom, I am preparing the harvest, but not a moment to soon.