not just holding your ground;
not just getting by;
not just growing a little;
but growing wildly,
Today, we have a beautifully vibrant forest of iridescent grass that we call our front lawn. But only a few short months ago it was bare earth. We had scattered our seeds, crossed our fingers and waited.
On day one, the pigeons living under the solar panels on our roof mistook our seeds for an all-you-can-eat buffet. We clapped our hands at them and they took off towards the roof again and sat there, watching us carefully. We set up a thing that fluttered in the breeze, hoping to scare them away with it.
On day two, the cat mistook our front garden for kitty-litter and gouged out its toilet across the face of the earth. We mumbled and grumbled, shook our impotent fists at the house where the cat lived. We laid a mesh across what parts of the earth we could cover, hoping to disguise the earth.
On day three the bin-man offered to turf the garden for us. As far as he could tell it was just bare earth. The price he gave was attractive, but we knew that underneath the soil, seeds were waiting to burst forth. At least, that’s what we hoped. So, we turned him down, whilst wondering if we’d done the right thing.
On day four, the sun came up and dried the earth so that it looked like the Sahara. Dust bunnies ran across the sandy soil, chasing each other here and there while the wind egged them on. We gave them a little water. Not enough to flaunt any hose-pipe-ban, but enough to get them by.
On day five, a full day before God had got around to creating the earth, we woke to this:
Somehow, despite all the trials that nature and the world had thrown at these seeds, they had decided to flourish!
not just held their ground;
not just got by;
not just grown a little;
but had grown wildly,
And we love their little socks off for it.
What will you do today?