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.
I couldn't help but read a little subjective, non-contextual meaning into this verse from today's Gospel lesson this week.
For one thing, I've started to plant some of my garden seeds indoors in flats: leeks and cutting celery and scallions. I'm worse than a kindergartener when it comes to starting seeds; it takes a great deal of fortitude for me to not fuss with the plantings as I impatiently wait for new life to sprout; to have faith in the process of burial and resurrection, when it comes to seeds.
That's one thing.
And then we were chatting after church Wednesday evening when one of our venerable "church ladies" told me, "I was just remarking the other day to someone how happy and relaxed you look since you've quit your job. You smile all the time now!"
This is about the fourth person, in different social contexts, who's told me the same thing. Which gave me pause; I didn't realize how pitiful my expression and even my posture were pre-quit.
But I can't tell you how much better I feel -- emotionally and even physically, as the natural rhythms of my body have gotten back in synch.
I'm also rediscovering my self-confidence as a competent adult; something that had been eroding daily at my job.
Fellow Traveler told me that I act like a freed hostage after a long time in captivity.
But it took "dying" as an employee of my former employer, to get me to this point. And at times I'm still antsy, although not in a frightened way, about getting to somewhere better, professionally and otherwise. Sometimes I have to remind myself to leave myself alone, in the same way I have to remind myself to leave my seeds alone in their flats.