I’ve learned much about life with a shovel in my hand, dirt under my fingernails. Planting a seed is a miraculous thing, and I never tire of watching the miracle unfold. It’s a story in the making.
Setting: A garden somewhere in Missouri. Zoom in closer, a modest hole with soil off to one side.
Enter: A determined seed bravely consents to being covered with soil. (The best is yet to come.)
Time passes. The sower waters generously. Waits expectantly.
And waits and waits some more. More time passes until finally a mini explosion of dirt reveals the baby. It’s a seedling! Growth happens.
Winds come. The rains come–sometimes not so gentle. Storms overhead. Sun beats down. Yet the plant survives. Thrives under the care of the sower.
Flowers form. Fruit develops until one day the sower picks it for the dinner table. Then more and more fruit, some for neighbors, others for the canning jar to be given as gifts. An abundant harvest.
All because of one seed and the sower who planted it.
Now that’s my idea of a summer love story!