I remember how Dad liked to plant a garden. First, he plowed and harrowed God’s good earth. This made the soil more receptive to receive and nourish seeds.
Next, he skillfully tied a string between two stakes to help make the rows even. We children watched with awe as he reverently planted seeds in the garden’s rich soil. This was sacred time.
We waited patiently for plants to push through the soil. Finally, one memorable day we discovered a shoot that had risen from the earth. We joyfully raced to be first to share the good news. Now whenever I see a garden, I think of Dad.
