About two months ago, I cut open an avocado to discover a nest of roots growing from the base of the seed and resting on the surface of its green flesh. Feeling horrified (and vindicated in my decades-long stance that avocados are gross), I showed it to my husband. Instead of mimicking my gag reflex and slam-dunking the aberration into the garbage (like he did in my head), he shrugged and said it was no big deal.
I beg to differ.
Not because it was disgusting (which, I maintain, it totally was). But because those roots were the foundation of a lesson I pray never to forget. Theirs was a timed release from a seed that came pre-packaged with everything it needed to reproduce. At the right time, that seed did exactly what it was programmed to do. It didn’t matter that the conditions were inconvenient, or the atmosphere imperfect. When it’s time, it’s time.
I don’t ever want to forget that, because sometimes when I look at my life, I see a less-than-perfect environment to birth the things I dream of; the things God promised me. On hard days, I let myself be haunted by the ghosts of those unseen things. And the more time passes, the louder those ghost whispers can become.
But the avocado reminded me that none of that matters. Not if I have the seed; the Promise that one day I’ll see everything I dare to dream. If I can just remember that the seed carries all I was created to be and do, that it’s incorruptible and that its contents are time-released, then I’ll always see beyond my environment. I’ll know that it doesn’t matter how it looks; my seed is powerful. And when the fullness of time has come, everyone who rests in its shade and eats of its fruit will know how big a deal it really was.