Unless a Grain of Wheat …
How does a grain of wheat feel as it is planted in the soil? To answer that, I imagine interviewing a stalk of wheat, for every stalk was once a grain. Here is what the stalk might say: “I liked being a grain of wheat I was proud of who I was: Golden. Smooth. Perfectly intact. But then some farmer dug a hole and tossed me into it.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked. But my question was met with silence. Then the dirt came pouring down upon me. I protested, ‘Hey! You’re burying me alive! Stop!’ But no one heard me.
“I sat in total darkness. Afraid. Then I felt something. Moisture. At first, I thought, Good. I won’t die of thirst. But soon I began to get soggy; I sensed my golden color was fading. My smooth exterior became wrinkly. My intactness was breached as I was split asunder. I whimpered, ‘I’m dying … This is the end of me.’
“Then something amazing happened. Out of my shriveled, broken, dying self, two shoots emerged. One began pushing upward, the other downward–both powered by a force within and beyond me. As my root went down, my shoot went up until it broke through the soil and into the brightness of the sun. I was no longer a grain of wheat–but something better: a stalk of wheat. From me would come forth many, many grains of wheat that would help feed the people of the world.”
In closing, the stalk said: “Trust the farmer… Befriend silence and darkness… Embrace transformation… Willingly relinquish your intactness… Believe… For the end is really the beginning.”
—Melannie Svoboda,
Gracious Goodness
“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24) Jesus wasn’t just talking about His own death—He was revealing a spiritual truth that applies to all of us. Real growth, real transformation, often requires a kind of dying: to pride, to control, to the illusion that we can manage on our own. For many in treatment, it’s not until everything begins to fall apart that something deeper can begin. Like the seed, we sometimes need to be buried in the soil of surrender before the life God intends for us can take root.
In that hidden place—where things feel dark, uncertain, and undone—God is already at work. Jesus’ words remind us that death isn’t the end; it’s the beginning of something multiplied and beautiful. If you’re at the end of your rope, you may be closer than ever to breakthrough. Let go. Fall into grace. In God’s hands, even what feels like dying can become the start of new life. —DH
—David Hoskins, Founder & Care Guide, Sanctuary Clinics