A few days ago I was pulling up marigolds from our flower pots. The thrifty part of me (a combination of my Mormon heritage and being reared by parents who were children of the Great Depression) took the drying flowers apart and scattered the seeds back in the pots and in the flower beds.
As I carefully took apart the flowers and scattered the seeds, I wondered if some would take root and bloom again for next summer. The act reminded me of a hymn "We Are Sowing."
We are sowing, daily sowing countless seeds of good and ill,
Scattered on the level lowland, cast upon the windy hill.
Seeds that sink in rich, brown furrows, soft with heaven's gracious rain;
Seeds that rest upon the surface of the dry, unyielding plain.
As I pondered the words of the hymn, I thought of my own seeds, the things I think, say, and do every day. The fact is that some of my seeds are those of ill. And some are cast upon the windy hill. And some rest upon a dry, unyielding plain. Fortunately some sink "in rich, borwn furrows, soft with heaven's gracious rain."
So, for today, I am grateful for marigold seeds and any seed that sprouts forth beauty.
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