At the heart of gardening there is a belief in the miraculous. Mirabel Osler
Early this morning found me at the flowerbeds, watering can in hand, nightgown teased by a fresh breeze, flawless blue canopy overhead. My thumb is only light-to-medium green, yet every time I round the corner of the house these beauties steal my breath a bit. Every time a seed takes root and sends up stem, foliage, flowers, fruit, seeds abundant, I see again how God brings life out of earth. And if I let God plant me where He chooses, even if that planting seems like death and burial, what might I become?
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