I was working, immersed in the routine of the day, trying to finish my task on time, when the voice of a nearby man caught my attention. I wasn’t looking for it, but his words echoed in my mind like a persistent refrain, slipping into the flow of my thoughts without permission. Maybe it was because, at that moment, I was questioning what I was doing—how to make my efforts bear fruit, how to turn my service into something that could also sustain me. Maybe it was because, despite all the good I had tried to sow, I had yet to see tangible results.
His tone was slow but firm, the voice of someone who had learned through the fire of trials. It wasn’t the voice of an overly zealous preacher or a fanatic trying to impose his faith. No. It was the tone of a man who had walked the edge of the abyss and lived to tell the story. He was speaking to a young woman who was assisting him at the event he was organizing, and in his words, there was a mix of nostalgia and certainty, of conviction and clarity—like someone walking the fine line between their past and their present.
I didn’t want to interrupt, but I couldn’t ignore him either. I glanced slightly in his direction, pretending to remain focused on my work, but paying close attention to every word. There was something in his story that pulled me in. His testimony wasn’t dressed up in grand speeches or false piety. His words carried the rawness of someone who had walked through darkness. And yet, his voice didn’t waver as he spoke about the days when drugs and the occult had been his daily bread.
“Brother, I know what it’s like to sow destruction,” he said with a faint, bitter laugh, as if he could still taste the dust of his ruined past. “You think you can play with fate, that you can do whatever you want without consequence. But you know what I learned? God cannot be mocked.”
There was a brief silence—one of those moments when words seem to hover in the air, searching for a place to land.
“No one who sows lemons will harvest roses,” he continued. “Sooner or later, the harvest comes, and when it does, it is fair.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Not because his words were new to me, but because, in that instant, I realized he wasn’t just speaking to his friend. He was speaking to anyone willing to listen. He was speaking to me.
I recalled what the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Galatians:
"Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows." (Galatians 6:7)
That truth struck me with renewed force. It wasn’t just a warning for those who had gone astray or for those living in open sin. It was an unbreakable principle of life—something that operates in both the visible and the invisible, in every action, every thought, every choice we make. Everything we do is a seed, and sooner or later, the harvest comes.
As I meditated on this, my mind traveled back to Genesis. God established this principle from the very beginning. Adam and Eve sowed disobedience and reaped death and separation. Since then, humanity has been caught in this unchangeable cycle—sowing and reaping, decisions and consequences.
But what unsettled me most wasn’t the warning itself. It was realizing that this principle applies not only to obvious actions but also to the subtle ones. How many times have I sown complaint instead of gratitude? How many times have I sown fear instead of faith? How many times have I expected a harvest from seeds I never planted?
Sometimes, we think sowing and reaping only apply to money, to tangible blessings, or to judgment over sin. But it’s much deeper than that. It is a principle that governs every aspect of life. If I want to see growth, I must sow discipline. If I want to see restoration, I must sow forgiveness. If I want to see fruit in my calling, I must sow faithfulness.
As I reflected on this, I thought of a friend I had helped in his marriage. I had watched him struggle, confront his mistakes, and decide to sow patience, love, and commitment. At first, it seemed like nothing was changing, but in time, his harvest came. Faithfulness in the small things bore fruit in his home.
And then I understood. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing right now or how distant the results may seem. If the seed is good and the soil is fertile, the harvest will come. Because God cannot be mocked, but neither can He be denied in His justice and faithfulness.
I take a deep breath. Something has to change in my life, in my dedication, in the way I am facing my own circumstances. I can’t keep expecting results without evaluating the kind of seed I’m sowing. How can I hope for a harvest of abundance if my hands have only scattered the seeds of doubt, impatience, or despair?
Sometimes, it feels like our efforts lead nowhere, like we are plowing in the desert, like every attempt falls on dry, barren ground. We look around and see closed doors, broken paths, dreams fading with time. But God’s justice will never leave me without that which I hope for, that which moves me, that which gives me purpose. Because He upholds the balance of the universe, and in Him is the certainty that every seed, sooner or later, will bear fruit.
Yes, there are seasons of waiting. We see how everything around us slows down, how the outcome we long for seems blurry, distant, almost unreachable. But just like in real life, everything has its time to take off. A business doesn’t thrive overnight. A ministry isn’t built without trials and perseverance. A wounded marriage doesn’t heal with a single act of reconciliation. Everything valuable takes time, care, restoration, and patience.
The same applies to our lives. Just as broken marriages need time to heal, just as drugs and a reckless lifestyle leave lasting effects on those who indulge in them, spiritual sowing also follows a process. We cannot expect our lives to flourish if we haven’t cultivated the discipline to seek God, to remain in His word, to act with integrity even when no one is watching.
If we sow a spiritual life rich in the things of God, we can be certain that we will reap the benefits of our planting. Even if the fruit takes time, it will come. Even if winter seems endless, spring will arrive. Because God cannot be mocked, but neither can He be unjust to those who walk in faithfulness.
So today, I take a deep breath and choose to sow with intention. I choose to be patient in the waiting and diligent in the action. Because I know that what I plant today, in its time, will be my harvest tomorrow.
Danilo Carrillo
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