There’s a garden my brother started months ago. Though he prayed for harvest, it now lies overgrown. He shuffled earth but never sowed a seed. Only his doubts took root & they choked his faith like weeds. But when his nerves returned, he went to face those empty beds & found the earth had given birth despite his promises unkept. Brother Micah feared the seeds he’d sown & he prayed for mercy from crops he knew would surely grow. But there’s no way to hide the shame we plant at night. They may lie dormant but blooms will always find the light. If there was only justice in this world, he’d be alone, with his heart still left in parts that he could never whole. But now I ask you of his bride: “Friend, do you see that rose?” She is the loveliest crop failure he will ever know. We plant, water, & worry but we don’t have any control of the harvest itself. But, Oh, the Messiah, He is not like us, His power is endless & He won’t break His promise. And there’s still a garden, sown at the foundation, it's ripe with redemption & spreading its roots. Bless the storm for the rain; bless the Lord for the proof that the harvest is soon. And I know that it’s true 'cause I have seen the first fruits. We are the first fruits.