THE MUSTARD SEED

Little but mighty

A speck. A fleck. A whisper in the dirt. No fanfare. No spotlight. Just potential. It does not beg to be noticed. It does not scream to be seen. It simply grows. Roots twist through stone like memory through time. A tree rises from silence. Birds find home in its arms. And we— We carry seeds in our pockets. Tiny hopes. Quiet rebellions. We think we must be loud to matter. But the mustard seed says: Be small. Be still. Be unstoppable. Faith is not thunder. It is the decision to rise. To bloom unseen. To become mighty by being true. So let us be seeds. Let us be mustard. Let us be the storm that starts in silence.