Have you ever cut a papaya in half? They’re filled with hundreds of small, round, black seeds! And they are beautiful.
For much of my life, I couldn’t be bothered with papayas. I thought of them as strangely shaped tropical fruit that grew on really weird trees. And they smelled just a tiny bit like dirty feet!
But then one vacation, we ate at a breakfast buffet where they featured slices of fresh papaya, and I was hooked. I especially love these large, red ones from Mexico. Total yum.
But the day I cut this one open, I was fascinated by the little stuff inside the fruit. So I took this picture and I’ve loved looking at ever since. Seeds are miracles, you know? Just tiny things, but containing within themselves a whole new life.
But of course, in order for that life to take root, the seed itself has to disappear. It has to die. It has to open itself and be completely transformed into something new.
So much of this life of faith is like that, don’t you think? We, too, must ‘die,’ in a sense. At least our false selves need to die — those personas we carry around to show the world that we’re-just-fine-thank-you, that shell that we protect ourselves with. It’s gotta go.
Because it’s only when we let that shell slough off that the beautiful newness the Holy Spirit is growing in us can be seen and experienced.
Yes, I love seeds. Even though they have to sacrifice something in order for new life to flourish. Maybe especially because they do.
