A Burning Desire and Goal to Aim for

Life's aims and goals are achieved in slow and timely sowing.

Sowing tiny seeds after digging, raking, making small steps, crawling like a toddler. . .

Gardening's aim is vegetables and fruit: Vine-ripened red tomatoes, green and solid heads of lettuce, delicious granny green apples, and more.

Yet, a tiny seed must be planted to get the plant to begin.

My dad used string to plant tomato seeds in straight rows. And, he used a ruler to separate them to have the necessary space.

Like life.

One plants a picture in one's imagination and then feeds it. The more I keep focus, the easier the result is achieved. A flower blooms. A seed sprouts.

How it happens is a mystery.

Life is a lot of sowing. More sowing than reaping. Weeping is in the mix also as one wins some and loses others. It is still sowing, however. . .how ever. Still reaping as tiny or small the progress or produce, or product. Amid the watery tears, growing happens. It does. I believe.

And, yet, some sow while other's reap the harvest.

Still others, weep wildly loud with rage, or silently soft in hiding the heartache, hurt or pain of no produce this day, this month, this year. Like, no work or the one in six Americans living in poverty today. Feeling no produce, little worth without work, a job.

The Creator is in all of this nevertheless - the sowing, reaping, and weeping, especially when the goal and aim and dream falls or falls short, even seemingly sprouts nothing, nada, nich!

But God is there in it all. God is everywhere. In defeat and victory sitting next to passengers on the planes penetrating the Trade Towers, and in dashed dreams, unfuliflled dreams, crashed love, a fractured family, and a broken glass.

I trust and know that. So, I keep sowing abundantly also in the Maker's model and timeless days and dark nights, however. Something gives way. Not in my time, perhaps, as I keep sowing deeply, fully, generously.

Like the generous, abundant God loving who wants to save all. The stirrings within and without make me wonder and wander. That's sowing also, isn't it?

And, a door may close. One may be passed over. A child is rejected, abandoned. A team loses. But a crack, a window opens also.

Growth is like that. Faith also. I know as sure as the sun will rise, or come out tomorrow. . .

So be it.

An infant crawls no more. He or she walks. Then runs. And, runs, she will into the arms of the Beloved, finally, one day.

Giant steps with big feet have become those little feet. Like the little life of a plant, and before that a minuscule seedling. . . and before that. . .

Strong trees are born of miniature seeds. If but you have faith the size of a mustard seed, the Good Book notes.

Amen. It is true. Verdad! So be it!

God's in it all, all ways, always. Forever. I believe.

Some sow. Others reap. Weep also.

It is, life that is, is more sowing than anything else. Digging deep, raking, sprinkling and planting seeds. It's the hard and arduous tasks and stuff with hands to prove it. And a heart to go with it that breaks open over and over again.

And, I wonder why. And, I bet you do also.

Growing seeds and relationships are tough work. Hard. And heartless at times.

It is.

But, keep sowing. Spring comes.

And light, follows the night.

It does. Really. I know.