This morning’s sermon was about hope.
Looking for it in times that seem hopeless.
Now for instance.
And finding it in the small spaces.
The cracks of life.
So this afternoon
When I headed to the garden house
To plant even more seeds
It seemed like a natural way
To spend the afternoon.
Planting hope.
I’ve gotten rather obbsessed with seeds this year.
Trying a few new varieties
And methods.
I keep reading about starting Dahlias from seed.
Really?
How can that be.
Convincing that little dried up
Kind of seed looking thing
To sprout
And become this
Is well
More than even the most Pollyanna among us
Could hope for.
But why not at least try.
So I got out the Dahlia breeding book I bought.
And read through the incredibly detailed instructions.
Then I realized
I’ve seen this done before.
Damp paper towels, seeds a plate….
My father did this every year
Before he planted his wheat.
He tested the seed he had saved
For germination.
I distinctly remember a saucer
Sprouting in the kitchen window.
So there it was
A sermon on hope
Followed by a fond memory
Of a man who thrived on it.
What a day.
Gail
“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness.”
Desmund Tutu
In My Garden 