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The thing that struck me most when we bought our first house was the fact that we now owned trees. And I could not stop wondering how on earth a person was allowed to own a tree… because really, trees are entities with a life of their own, and they were there long before I was, and they can take care of themselves just fine…

And I never got the answer, but these trees, I really owned them.  They were mine. And when a few years later we made the decision to cut some of them down, I felt the weight of our choice–we were cutting down something that had roots deeper than I could even picture; something that lived many more decades than I had, surviving rough seasons, and storms and deep freezes, and violence, and death all around it time and time again.

And these mammoth, timeless,strong and powerful trees that I somehow own, they keep pointing me to minuscule almost invisible seeds. Because that’s how each one of them got its beginning–a tiny seed, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. And these trees that have roots in my very own little plot of land, they each are carriers of many, many seeds. Hundreds of them. Maybe even millions. Or billions. How can that be?

And as soon as one tiny seed sprouts and the tree begins to make roots deep within the earth, it is on its way to growth.

And these trees that a child could easily plant and water, these trees that even the wind can plant and the rain can water, they become taller than the houses we build, and stronger than the men who own them. They become immovable apart from using heavy machinery.

And I can’t help but yearning to be a planter of trees in my life. And I feel the urge to be a sower of seeds that turn into something taller than me, seeds that transform into something stronger than me, seeds that wind up immovable.

Because my life here on earth, it is as fleeting as can be, and it certainly is on its way out. But the seeds that I plant, as tiny as they may seem, they might turn into majestic things. Into things like trees that provide seeds for the next generation of trees, and the next and the next. Or trees that just provide shade for the tired Momma deer in the heat of the day.

And the other day, I held my grand-baby‘s tiny fingers in my hand, and I marveled at how young hers looked, and how old mine did, after fifty-four years on this planet.

But the old and the new, it did not make me sad. Actually, I found myself smiling all the way down to my toes because I saw the joy of seeds all over us. And my mind can’t quite grasp this, but she is the seed of me, this sweet Emmaline who doesn’t even know my name yet. And she is a reminder that seeds go on and on and on, that seeds keep on giving and grow into something taller than us, something that might well be immovable.

And any seed that I have planted, as tiny as it might have been, it could turn into majestic beauty. Into beauty like Emmaline who might provide seeds for the next generation, and the next and the next. Or simply smiles for a tired soul.

And I thank God that He made us seed-bearers.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

one-thousand7#880 Impromptu pizza with friends

#881 Strong coffee

#882 A Bible passage memorized

Sometimes, I link up with any or all of these wonderful writers: Hearts 4 HomeSDG, Hearts Reflected, WLW, EOA, Things I can’t say, Growing HomePlay Dates with GodMonday Musings, Hear it on Sunday,Inspire Me Monday, Tell me a Story, The Better Mom, a Mama’s StoryInto the WordIn and Around Mondays,OYHT, Gratituesday,Titus2Tuesdays, ExtraordinayLessons from IvyDenise in BloomSweet BlessingsFaith Filled Friday, Finding JoyWholeHearted Home, Mom’s the Word,

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