I see it lying by the wayside, after all, in the ditch, like a tossed away rag, like a child given up for dead. It looks wasted. It looks used-up. It looks dead. It looks as if it would be useless and inefficient and half-broken and hopelessly out-of-date, even if you could and did revive it.
But Love is not a rag and Love is not even a person. Love is greater than all of these.
Love is a seed. A seed that never dies because it is a piece of the very heart of God. And so when it appears used-up and dead and thrown away, that is the most magical time of Love.
Because that is when Love grows. It sends out a root. It anchors itself deep. It brings out leaves, more roots, stems, and, eventually, it blooms.
Oh, the birds will try to snatch it away. And the thorns will try to choke it out. And the winds will try to blow it away and sometimes they succeed. You know what?
They only blow it somewhere else. Where it's dropped, and it looks dead once more, and then, bit by bit, it revives.
Nothing that God IS will ever be wasted. Ever.
May He give us courage. Not only to be the seed, but to accept it. Not only to grow again, but to nurture what comes to us. Not only to love, but to be loved. Because Love is never wasted.
