The Rest of the Story

Continuing my last post about my refusal to plant my seed:

After much sobbing and refusing on my part, and God’s firm and gentle reassurance, I finally planted my seed.  About six inches deep. And I packed more dirt on top, watered it down and packed it on, making sure that seed would never sprout.

What’s up with that? What kind of sick (in the hurting sense of that word) purposely sabotages herself, with GOD standing right there??

Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?

So, every day now, I’m asking myself: What am I doing with my seed? Am I planting it? Watering and weeding to help it grow? Or am I standing on it, refusing to let it see sunlight? 

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