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My Garden

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My Garden The dirt calls to me. The seeds are waiting. I need to pray before I begin. Nothing will grow right, unless I do this. I feel the sun warm on my face. The earth is pliant to my touch. My gloves are removed. I want to be closer to Him. I am on my knees now, most of this day and the next. I don't mind, I feel it is the right place, to ask for a blessing. One that would feed us, and keep us, for all the cold winter, and into the new spring. For now, I count the pieces in my hand. Each a sign of hope, and a vivid, tangible representation of a future worth living for. Thank you, Father, for my garden, and for the rest you give me, for my soul.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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Date: 6/12/2022 12:00:00 PM
To seek the Lord’s blessing as you sow is to reap His rewards:)
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Date: 6/12/2022 10:04:00 AM
Ann, I really enjoyed your lovely poem about gardening. It brought back memories of hours I would spend sitting on the ground weeding in my garden. Always rewarded with beautiful cut flower arrangements in my home and supplying altar flowers for the church. Very rewarding.
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Ann Foster
Date: 6/12/2022 10:32:00 AM
You must have truly had a lovely garden... bringing flowers to church. Lovely. I am close the Lord, near the dirt. It smells sweet, and alive. The flowers are pungent today. Roses, and iris, lilac and carnation. Thank you for stopping by. Thank you for your kind words and thoughts. May God bless you today and every day... Ann