Yes, love. You. Third row from the bottom left. There, in front of those sunlit asparagus fronds.
I know you held out as long as you could. You tapped that DNA of yours, that lab-bred tendency to wait, wait, wait before you matured. You stalled. Stayed tender, half-grown.
But weeks passed, as they do. Daylight stretched. Your leaves enlarged, thickened, multiplied. Angles grew in them where margins once curved. Buds erupted from your nodes.
Oh, those buds. How they threatened our days together, our status quo. I quickly pinched them out.
For your own good, of course.
I’m projecting, you say?
Okay. Okay. Maybe I did prune your bloom for the sake of my salads. I admit it. I stunted you. Refused the flowering that would, in time, give you seeds to strew.
Until the Life in you wore me down.
The Life in those roots of yours. In that photosynthesis. In the rest of your DNA—the parts that say yes to
Until you bolted toward it.
And gave me courage to do the same.
“Her desert will blossom like Eden, her barren wilderness like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found there. Songs of thanksgiving will fill the air.”
When Heaven Spreads.
“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
“‘Come now, let us reason together,’ says the LORD.”
If you flap too fast.
“Enthusiasm without knowledge is not good; impatience will get you into trouble.”
Ever met Spinach? Know a bud-pincher? Ever been either one? Would love to hear what you notice this week, friends. About your garden. About yourself.
Thanks to all of you who have commented here or through my contact page. You help me grow buds, and I’m grateful.
Watching Nature, Seeing Life: Through His Creation, God Speaks.