He cast his lot of seeds here and there, hoping for a crop one day – hoping for life to spring forth from the cracked soil surrounding him. Once the seeds had been scattered, he watered them. And then the waiting began.
Summer came. The sun blazed with its heat; the neighbors retreated indoors for respite; but he watered his seeds even still. And even still, no crops broke through the soil. Not one.
Fall. Leaves turned colors and then fell to the ground. People gathered their harvest for sale and for feasting. But still, he watered. And even still, his work seemed to be in vain.
Winter knocked hard on the doors of his heart, and he looked desperately at the field, just knowing beyond a doubt that no seed could sprout now – not in the dead of winter, not in the frigid winds and lifeless soil. Yet still, he watered.
But then…hope. Upon one last glance at the field, he noticed something strange. A small sprig of green had wormed and fought its way up from the depths of the dirt. He ran to this burst of color among fields of white, cupping it in his hands. Surely a crop couldn’t come up from this – not now. But it had. And hope, just like that sprig of green, began to grow in the heart of this weary man.
“Behold, I will do something new,
Now it will spring forth;
Will you not be aware of it?
I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,
Rivers in the desert.”