I’ve seen my fair share of miracles lately In fact, I’ve grown to become expectant of them Still, as my patience continues to be exercised in the groaning of my own suffering I’m reminded that there is indeed a purpose in pain, strength in weakness, even life after death- Such as in every tree we find, we’d do well to remember that a seed was once buried there And like that seed, we too must die Buried in the ground before we can become all that we’re meant to be So this I yield to, in spite of my immediate wishes being so strong; To let what is in my garden remain unhurried, growing gently, slowly So that one day I might reap all that is meant to be mine Each particular fruit being savored fully in its due season A garden, vast and unimaginable; Far more beautiful and true than what I ever thought possible