Someone once said, “Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in a while.” That I find is a mystery to be pondered for sure.
Still yet I find an even greater mystery for pondering: So numberless are the acorns born each year yet all do fall. Countless acorns are gathered by the beasts of the trees, the beasts of field, and the birds of the air. Acorns unnumbered that are carried away and then, they are no more.
Still yet are the untold acorns that fall to the ground and are never to be found. These lost untold acorns die, rot, and then return to dust of the earth from which they came.
Still yet there are the numbering of acorns that fall to the ground, that do not enter the earth, and yet still they die. In the spring when the rains come these acorns sprout up with new life and push upward to the heavens. Yet when the sun beats down on them in the summer drought, they wither, and death wins. For they are the numbered that have no root deep into the earth. For these numbered did not feed upon the nutrients of the earth nor have they drank fully of the water of life. For these who are the counted also die and return to dust of the earth from which they came.
Still yet are the acorns, the few, that fall to the ground, enter the earth and die. When the spring rain comes these few rise up with new life, and push upward to the heavens as their roots dig downward deep into the earth. Yet when the sun beats down, in the summer drought they do not wither. These few filled with new life have roots dug down deep into the earth to feed upon nutrients of the earth and drink freely of the water of life. As years upon years past, storms come, flood waters rise and fall, yet the years of drought pass by, these few with new life keep growing on. Massive oaks they have become producing much fruit and always growing upward till their purpose has been made full. Then they also die and return to the dust of the earth from which they came.
Still yet I find this to be a mystery: So is it also the same with a man?