Not Beneath a Willow Tree...

Nestled near a gravestone…

Isn’t it’s place.

Under many a tree is buried someone’s anointing…

Never having been birthed.

Under many layers of dirt is residing someone’s soul saving book…

Never having found paper.

Beneath cold soil dwells many prophetic words…

Never given.

Below clod and clay lodges years of procrastination…buried right alongside good intentions.

That grave doesn’t need the book you’re supposed to write.

It doesn’t need the sermon you’re supposed to preach.

It doesn’t need the Bible study you’re supposed to lead..

It doesn’t need the song you’re supposed to sing.

No, friend…the grave doesn’t need it…

But the earth does..

The lost do…

That gift you’re harboring because perhaps Sandra does it better…

Was never meant to be packed away down the road under a shiny headstone and a low hanging tree limb.

That class you won’t teach because of your past…

Was never meant to be lowered into the dust on a rainy week day evening at sunset.

No…

It was meant for the living…

That they may have eternal life.

It was never for your honor…

It was always to be a seed of hope for a lost and dying world…

And it was always meant to be planted within another…

Not beneath a willow tree.

So write the book before there are no more words.

Sing the song before the melody fades.

Preach the Gospel before you have no earthly voice.

And empty your pockets of purpose...

and giftings.. and callings.. and anointings.. and sermons.. and lessons.. and books.. and ministries..

While you’re here…

Because I believe we’d much rather meet him empty handed than hoarding.