The Seed Grows In Your Dryness

The afternoon light is flat and heavy, pressing against the windows while you move through the motions of the day. You feel a quiet panic rising because the tears have dried up, leaving your eyes dry even when your heart is breaking.

You wonder if you have hardened beyond repair, if the grief has turned to stone inside your chest. But listen — the light does not demand your weeping to prove you are alive.

Jesus himself stood before a tomb and wept, not because he lacked faith, but because he was fully human. Your dryness is not a failure.

It is simply the soil waiting. The seed grows night and day, whether you sleep or wake, whether you cry or stare blankly at the wall.

The work is happening beneath the surface, where you cannot see it. You are not broken because you cannot cry.

You are held in the silence.