The Patience of a Seed

Brent was thirteen when he found the package his father had left. He had come to the attic looking for something, but the sunlight pouring in through the blades of the gable fan blinded him and the dust falling softly through the light like snow clouded his mind. All the sights and sounds and smells of that lonely, sun-filled attic made Brent forget why he had come there in the first place. No longer sure of what he had hoped to find, he began looking through a pile of odds and ends. No sooner had his search begun than it was finished.

On the very top of the pile sat a small, brown-paper package. Written on it in an even, steady hand were the words, “To Brent. From Your Father.” It was several moments before Brent remembered to breathe. He sat himself down and considered the package thoughtfully. How long had this been sitting up here? Why hadn’t anyone told him about it? His thoughts were racing. Brent had seen pictures of his father and heard people speak of him. But, this package was a direct link between father and son. To Brent. From Your Father. He carefully untied it and folded back the wrapping. Inside he found a neatly folded letter and an acorn. The letter read:

My Dear Son,
I know there’s nothing I can say to make up for all the years we’ve lost. I know it’s been tough growing-up without me. You’ve had to take care of things on your own and be the man of the house. I hope you believe me when I tell you that this has been tough for me too. Brent, I want you to know that I have always loved you and always will. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. Like I said, I know things haven’t always been easy. They may never be. But the acorn you found with this letter is very special. If things ever get to be too much for you to bear alone, you just plant it and I’ll be there! I love you son.
Always,
Your Father

Brent choked back a sob and wiped the tears from his eyes before they could fall. He was too young to give voice to the deep sorrow that pierced his heart and he had no words for the anger that burned his soul. Brent tore the letter to pieces and threw the acorn into the darkness. As he slammed the attic door behind him, it came rolling back into the light.

* * *

Eighty-three years later, a man named Brent sat in a wheelchair looking out the window of his room at the nursing home. His wife had long since passed away and his children seemed to have forgotten where they left him. There were no pictures in the room. When he first arrived there had been a few cards and some flowers. Now the room was empty and bare. Brent had insisted that the television and phone be removed. He had a roommate at one time who loved to listen to the radio, but that did not last long.

“Sir, it’s time for your medicine.”

Brent turned abruptly and hollered. “I Don’t Need Any Damn Medicine! You keep that poison away from me!”

The young nurse was still new and was taken aback by his outburst. “Sir. It’s for your pain. Hasn’t your arthritis been bothering you?” She spoke in a condescending tone that further enraged him.

“Get The Hell Out Of My Room! You Don’t Know A Damn Thing About My Pain!”

“I’ll just leave them here, alright? And, you can take them whenever you want. Okay?” She set a little paper cup down on the nightstand and left. Brent sighed. He slumped into the wheelchair and reflected a moment before wheeling across the room to fetch the aspirin. Two little pills for all this pain? Brent flung them across the room and covered his face with his hand. With his other hand he reached into his breast pocket. He withdrew a letter that had been taped together like a jigsaw puzzle. He balled it up in his fist and threw it in the direction of the wastebasket.

* * *

“Hello Brent.” The receptionist at the front desk called out warmly as he wheeled by.

“Hi Mary.” Brent’s mood had brightened a little and he had a determined look on his face.

“Where are you off to?”

“Just out for a stroll. Don’t wait up.”

“Make sure you’re back by midnight or that wheelchair turns into a pumpkin!”

For the first time in a long while, Brent smiled as he wheeled out the front door. It was a warm spring morning with the promise of summer on the breeze. The sun smiled down on brightly colored birds that danced and sang from tree to tree. Brent rolled down the access ramp and onto the grass. Wheeling across the lawn proved to be more than his aching joints could bear, so he lowered himself out of the chair and started crawling slowly forward. A tear ran down his cheek.

Brent’s eyes stung and he could no longer see where he was headed. As he made his way forward his hands searched frantically for a soft spot of turf. His body shook from exertion and the tears he had held back all his life now streamed down his face. Brent dug a hole in the lawn with his bare hands. He reached once more into his breast pocket and pulled out a small piece of wood, worn smooth and stained dark by years of handling. It was an acorn. Brent could no longer see it, but he knew it by heart. Many times since that day, when he had returned to the attic to find it, he held it close and dreamed of this day. He kissed it gently and placed it into the earth. His strength was quickly failing, but he managed to push the soil back over the acorn and pat it down. The shock of pain that ran down the left side of his body was no longer significant to him.

The young nurse returned to Brent’s room to see whether or not he had taken his aspirin. Surprised at not finding him, she walked over to the window and stood there with her hands on her hips. Just as she was wondering where he had gotten to, she saw him lying out on the lawn clutching his chest.

“Oh My God!” She dashed outside, calling for help as she ran. She knelt at Brent’s side. “Everything’s going to be alright. You just hold on now, okay?” She felt for a pulse as she tenderly smoothed the hair back from his face. Brent looked into her eyes and smiled.

“No.” He spoke softly. “Everything is alright, now.” The nurse looked at him, startled by the change in his countenance. “My father’s here. And, he’s going to take care of me.” Brent found her hand, squeezed it, and let go.


Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. –John 12:24