The Seeds are Enough

He sat, gasping for breath, on the steps looking out over the field. 

He had absolutely no idea or understanding of how the fire started, and the unknown threatened to drown him in despair.

The Master would be most displeased.

It had been a year ago when the Master had entrusted him with this field and a heaping bag of seeds. The honor felt like the biggest gift at the time.

Now, all he felt was the entire thing had been an opportunity to fail.

He had failed. Desperately. He felt his chest constrict in panic as the inevitable truth washed over him, soaking him in the misery of it.

Before him, the scene was bleak. Smoke rose haphazardly across the field where the remaining embers stubbornly continued glowing. Despite all the effort, all the running, all the attempts to stop the inferno, everything was gone.

All his best laid plans. He had painstakingly tilled the soil, hand-planted the seeds, obsessively removed any weed that so much as considered threatening to grow, and sacrificed sleep to tend to the crops. 

He had so badly wanted to please the Master, to have earned the trust bestowed upon him.

Continuing to stare across the devastation that had mere hours ago been a lush field of thriving plants, his grip tightened on his only hope.

A small bag of seeds. 

Believing he would successfully manage the harvest, he had intended to plant all of them. In the midst of his planting frenzy, a wise, old farmer wandering by suggested he keep a few seeds stored away, in case of emergency. Insurance.

Well, this was an emergency alright, but he could not see how presenting this feeble bag of seeds to the Master could in any way make up for his pitiful lack of harvest.

He threw the bag of seeds down in frustration and immediately regretted it because the seeds spilled out over the ground. They were so small he could not distinguish them from the dirt. 

He sighed, scooped up the surrounding dirt, and deposited it back into the sack, even as he did so realizing things were somehow even worse.

What was he going to say? What was he going to do? What would happen to him? 

The small bag of seeds was his only hope. He believed he could still do something with them, if given a second chance, but time had run out. 

The meeting with the Master was unavoidable.

So, instead of ending a day with sacks full of the crops he had so carefully tended, he would be showing up with nothing but a sad sack of seed dirt.

Reluctantly, he began the trek down the dusty road, wishing the journey were longer to give him more time to collect his thoughts. Unwillingly, a tear cut through the dirt and smoke caked on his face as he saw the flocks of other farmers wheeling their bounty.

He slowed his pace. If he was going to face humiliation, better to be the last one to be seen by the Master.

The crowd swelled in the town square, and a gong rang out abruptly silencing the crowd. An eldery, calm voice called the first name of the list. The first farmer, standing a few people away, picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow and pushed his way up to the building. A helper ushered him inside and gently closed the door.

After what felt like hours, he was the last to remain in the square. The dread building inside him, he heard his name called, and approached the building fighting the urge to simply turn around and run away.

Sooner than he would have preferred, he was crossing the threshold of the worn building - it was really more of a barn - and his nose was flooded with the pleasant smell of vegetation. Piles and piles of crops surrounded the walls of the interior. The sun was setting, he could see the beams through the occasional cracks in the back wall he was facing. 

His eyes fell upon the silhouette of the man sitting at a table. The Master’s face was hidden, such was the sun’s effect.

“Good evening, Pippin.”

The voice was calm, evening soothing. There was no accusation in it, more like a father greeting a son. 

Pippin remained silent. His voice had deserted him.

“I heard there was a fire earlier today. Most unusual,” the Master said.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. The words exploded out of him, “Master, it burned. All of it burned. I tried so hard. I did everything right. I’ve barely slept. I don’t know what happened. I know I failed you. I wanted to earn the trust, to be worthy of it. I tried. I tried...all I have is this sack of seeds. I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry…”

At that point, he sank to his knees and sobbed. He could not catch his breath. After several minutes, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and through tear-filled eyes, found himself almost nose-to-nose with the Master.

“Pippin, do you know what your name means?”

The question seemed so unrelated and out of the blue, he muttered something unintelligible. 

“It comes from a word meaning seed, or seed of fruit. Your faith in keeping some of these seeds is enough. Seeds, when paired with faith, lead to fruit.”

Pippin’s mouth fell open.

“So...so...you’re not angry?”

“Angry? Why no, not at all! Seeds we can work with! We have more than enough crops to meet our needs. The seeds are enough, Pippin,” explained the Master kindly.

“But, I thought...what? Why not? I failed! Everything burned!”

“Do you want me to be angry?” 

“Well, no, of course not...but…”

“My dear Pippin, the seeds are enough. I promise. Though perhaps, next year, you might let me be part of your process a bit more? I love to be involved, and I suspect you might find it to be more peaceful. How does that sound?”

“Thank you Master! Thank you so much!”

“Oh, and one more thing. Call me Abba.”