As I sit with my face heavenward and my eyes closed in the middle of the vast cornfields,

The seedlings too short to cover me as they grow on,

I thank my heavenly God for the smallest miracles,

It is from the roots I have come and to the roots I must go,

As the seedlings grow on I can feel them twisting into my knees and ankles.

 

What are we meant to learn by failing?

Is it to fall hard, to fall gracefully, or to crawl?

There is something to be seen in everything,

In this I see where I have come,

I feel in every tear where I am going,

In every seedling that brushes my calves and cuts into my knees,

I see a truth, a blessing, something that would not have been if,

By dancing without failing or falling or stumbling or crawling,

I would have achieved a perfection,

A lonely, unlearned, unseeing perfection.

 

It is not in human nature to be perfect,

It is Gods place to show us the way of our errors,

To let us learn, to let us fall, 

And in doing so see if we will sit in the middle of our cornfields,

Turn our faces to heaven,

And say “thank you”

For the opportunity of hard times that gives our roots strength to grow,

For the lesson we are learning, 

For the knowledge that failure is part of life,

And there is no flattery in it,

Only the beauty that comes from the flower of growth.

 

I open my eyes, I wipe my tears,

And I kiss the seedlings that took the blood of my prayers.