Monday, May 14, 2018

First Fruits

He held the offering in his hand.
Wheat, first fruits from his field.
Looking at it, he remembered
the seed.
The promise of it.
The fear in it.
The possibility of famine or feast
that had rested in it.

He remembered throwing it into the field.
Praying for rain.
Praying for not too much rain.
Praying for sunshine.
Praying for not too much baking sun.

He remembered watching the tiny plants sprout,
hoping for growth.
He thought of plucking the wheat from the field,
the first to become fruit.
So far, it was the only to become usable wheat.
He had pulled it,
made a sheaf,
and brought it to the Lord.

He offered it to God,
hoping that his first fruit
would not be his last.
Praying that there would be enough.
Enough to feed his family
Enough for seed to next year.

His offering of first fruit
was an act of faith.
An act of obedience.
It was worship that beat back fear.
It was ritual that spoke of his faith in God.

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