The Way of the Wheat

in

I'm holding tight to kernels of wheat, 
Gaze fixed upon golden-yellow
Struggling to breathe against white knuckles. 
They are suffocating.

Until with gentle whisper, 
He names Me. Child. Daughter.
Eyes slip upward,
Locked in embrace with King's burning eyes. 
Those burning eyes wear His heart:
One object.
And I'm lost in the burning;
White knuckles turn pink
 And the wheat-cares slip. 
Once fallen, falling.
And falling, and falling, and falling. 

Porous Souls breathe easy; 
Broken clay jars let light seep through.
Toss me upon the ground
If filtering light inhabits broken jars
And makes respiration possible. 
Gentle Whisper. 
Slow-cracking jar-heart.
Once surrendered, surrendering.
And surrendering, and surrendering, and surrendering.

"And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him." John 12:23-26