A seed lies deep beneath the ground,
No rush, no race, no urgent sound.
Yet inch by inch, through stone and clay,
It finds the light in its own way.
A river bends, it does not break,
Its path is slow, a winding wake.
But still it carves the hardest stone,
By moving gently, all alone.
So too, your steps may feel like crawl,
But slow is better than not at all.
Each breath you take, each thought you form,
Is motion in its quietest storm.
The world may shout, “Go fast, achieve!”
But even turtles still believe.
The point’s not speed, it’s not the pace—
It’s choosing not to quit the race.
So move like dusk, or falling snow—
No need to rush, just let it flow.
For even stars, though far and small,
Are moving—slow—but never stall.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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