This is absolutely and completely thrilling and like a Dandelion clock I might EXPLODE IN ALL DIRECTIONS. So very well done on creating this foundation, and I hope things are going quietly bananas behind the scenes.
THANK YOU so very much, my friend -- Dandelion Seeds would not be at all what it's evolved into without that epic call with you at the beginning, and for that I will forever be grateful 😭😭 Thank you for being such a Substack guru, and leading the way for us all. PS -- your dandelion metaphor made my day :)
What a beautiful adventure you are on as you plant your dandelion seeds within all of our hearts! Your message is so moving and lovely, one can’t help but stop and admire your words and works! Thank you for sharing yourself with us! I look forward to reading your next post!
Much like Jesus discussed with a crowd that surrounded Him, may your dandelion seeds continue to grow and become larger than you ever imagined as you take the road least traveled while trusting in Him to walk along side of you. 🙏🏻🤗
A Story About Mustard Seed
Then Jesus said, “How can I show you what the kingdom of God is like? What story can I use to explain it? The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, the smallest seed you plant in the ground. But when planted, this seed grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants. It produces large branches, and the wild birds can make nests in its shade.”
Thank you for such a beautiful comment, REW! What you wrote here especially means so much: "May your dandelion seeds continue to grow and become larger than you ever imagined as you take the road least traveled..." I grew up hearing the story of the mustard seed, and I love the parallels you drew between it and dandelion seeds -- that's such lovely encouragement, and I really appreciate you sharing it. Thank you for being here 😊
I grow Sequoia seedlings, which I start with seeds that are a little smaller than a rolled oat. Inside that rolled oat is the potential for great things. "General Sherman is not only the largest living tree, but the largest living organism, by volume, on the planet. At 2,100 years old, it weighs 2.7 million pounds, is 275 feet tall and has a 102-foot circumference at the ground. It has branches that are almost 7 feet in diameter."*
Sometimes I look at those little seeds and think about the big trees, which then reminds me of the parable of the mustard seed, and I wonder why we can't safely trust a great deal more than we do.
I have prayed for a Sequoia seed of faith to grow and help me meet challenges I have faced in life. So far, none of my challenges are even close to the size of General Sherman, and the seedlings of my faith are always sufficient
I would love to support you but my husband lost his job in June and I've had to cut back on a lot of things. I do love your essays and art work. So inspiring!
I'm so sorry to hear about your husband's job, Mel, and I hope you're both doing okay in this unexpected season of change. I so appreciate you being here and letting me know you enjoy what I share on Dandelion Seeds -- that means so much to hear 🤍
This is absolutely and completely thrilling and like a Dandelion clock I might EXPLODE IN ALL DIRECTIONS. So very well done on creating this foundation, and I hope things are going quietly bananas behind the scenes.
THANK YOU so very much, my friend -- Dandelion Seeds would not be at all what it's evolved into without that epic call with you at the beginning, and for that I will forever be grateful 😭😭 Thank you for being such a Substack guru, and leading the way for us all. PS -- your dandelion metaphor made my day :)
What a beautiful adventure you are on as you plant your dandelion seeds within all of our hearts! Your message is so moving and lovely, one can’t help but stop and admire your words and works! Thank you for sharing yourself with us! I look forward to reading your next post!
Much like Jesus discussed with a crowd that surrounded Him, may your dandelion seeds continue to grow and become larger than you ever imagined as you take the road least traveled while trusting in Him to walk along side of you. 🙏🏻🤗
A Story About Mustard Seed
Then Jesus said, “How can I show you what the kingdom of God is like? What story can I use to explain it? The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, the smallest seed you plant in the ground. But when planted, this seed grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants. It produces large branches, and the wild birds can make nests in its shade.”
Mark 4::30
Thank you for such a beautiful comment, REW! What you wrote here especially means so much: "May your dandelion seeds continue to grow and become larger than you ever imagined as you take the road least traveled..." I grew up hearing the story of the mustard seed, and I love the parallels you drew between it and dandelion seeds -- that's such lovely encouragement, and I really appreciate you sharing it. Thank you for being here 😊
I grow Sequoia seedlings, which I start with seeds that are a little smaller than a rolled oat. Inside that rolled oat is the potential for great things. "General Sherman is not only the largest living tree, but the largest living organism, by volume, on the planet. At 2,100 years old, it weighs 2.7 million pounds, is 275 feet tall and has a 102-foot circumference at the ground. It has branches that are almost 7 feet in diameter."*
Sometimes I look at those little seeds and think about the big trees, which then reminds me of the parable of the mustard seed, and I wonder why we can't safely trust a great deal more than we do.
I have prayed for a Sequoia seed of faith to grow and help me meet challenges I have faced in life. So far, none of my challenges are even close to the size of General Sherman, and the seedlings of my faith are always sufficient
*https://www.treehugger.com/spectacular-facts-about-giant-sequoias-4858757
The General Sherman video: :)
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwdJDVooGx1/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
Thankyou for keeping the freedom channels open for us. ✍🏽✌🏾🫶🏾🙌🏾🙏🏾🩵🌹
Of course! Thanks so much for being here, Rose 🤍
I would love to support you but my husband lost his job in June and I've had to cut back on a lot of things. I do love your essays and art work. So inspiring!
I'm so sorry to hear about your husband's job, Mel, and I hope you're both doing okay in this unexpected season of change. I so appreciate you being here and letting me know you enjoy what I share on Dandelion Seeds -- that means so much to hear 🤍
Thank you for setting this out so clearly: I’m so inspired by your example! X
That means so much to hear, Laura -- thank you for sharing that! 🤍
I like the cup of tea image best.
Hi T. C! ~ I couldn’t resist sharing this deeply moving poem with you and Candace after reading your comment! It’s called:
A Christmas Cup of Tea
by Tom Hegg
The log was in the fireplace, all spiced and set to burn,
At last, the yearly Christmas race was in the clubhouse turn.
The cards were in the mail, all the gifts beneath the tree,
And 30 days reprieve till VISA could catch up with me.
Though smug satisfaction seemed the order of the day,
Something still was nagging me and would not go away.
A week before I got a letter from my old great Aunt,
It read: Of course I'll understand completely if you can't,
but if you find you have some time, how wonderful it would be,
if we could have a little chat and share a cup of Christmas tea.
She'd had a mild stroke that year which crippled her left side,
Though house bound now my folks had said it hadn't hurt her pride.
They said: “She'd love to see you. What a nice thing it would be,
For you to go and maybe have a cup of Christmas tea.”
But boy! I didn't want to go. Oh, what a bitter pill. To see an old relation and how far she'd gone downhill.
I remembered her as vigorous, as funny and as bright,
I remembered Christmas Eves when she regaled us half the night.
I didn't want to risk all that. I didn't want the pain. I didn't need to be depressed. I didn't need the strain.
And what about my brother? Why not him? She's his aunt, too!
I thought I had it justified, but then before I knew,
The reasons not to go I so painstakingly had built,
Were cracking wide and crumbling in an acid rain of guilt.
I put on boots and gloves and cap, shame stinging every pore,
And armed with squeegee, sand and map, I went out my front door.
I drove in from the suburbs to the older part of town,
The pastels of the newer homes gave way to gray and brown.
I had that disembodied feeling as the car pulled up... and stopped beside the wooden house that held the Christmas cup.
How I got up to her door I really couldn't tell...
I watched my hand rise up and press the button of the bell.
I waited, aided by my nervous rocking to and fro,
And just as I was thinking I should turn around and go.
I heard the rattle of the china in the hutch against the wall.
The triple beat of two feet and a crutch came down the hall.
The clicking of the door latch and the sliding of the bolt,
And a little swollen struggle popped it open with a jolt.
She stood there pale and tiny, looking fragile as an egg.
I forced myself from staring at the brace that held her leg.
And though her thick bifocals seemed to crack and spread her eyes,
Their milky and refracted depths lit up with young surprise.
Come in! Come in! She laughed the words. She took me by the hand,
And all my fears dissolved away as if by her command.
We went inside and then before I knew how to react,
Before my eyes and ears and nose was Christmas past, alive, intact!
The scent of candied oranges, of cinnamon and pine,
The antique wooden soldiers in their military line,
The porcelain Nativity I'd always loved so much,
The Dresden and the crystal I'd been told I mustn't touch.
My spirit fairly bolted like a child out of class,
And danced among the ornaments of calico and glass.
Like magic I was six again, deep in a Christmas spell,
Steeped in the million memories the boy inside knew well.
And here among old Christmas cards so lovingly displayed,
A special place of honor for the ones we kids had made.
And there, beside her rocking chair, the center of it all,
My great Aunt stood and said how nice it was that I had come to call.
I sat and rattled on about the weather and the flu,
She listened very patiently then smiled and said, "What's new?"
Thoughts and words began to flow. I started making sense.
I lost the phony breeziness I use when I get tense.
She was still passionately interested in everything I did.
She was positive. Encouraging. Like when I was a kid.
Simple generalities still sent her into fits
She demanded the specifics. The particulars. The bits.
We talked about the limitations that she'd had to face.
She spoke with utter candor and with humor and good grace.
Then defying the reality of crutch and straightened knee,
On wings of hospitality she flew to brew the tea.
I sat alone with feelings that I hadn't felt in years.
I looked around at Christmas through a thick hot blur of tears.
And the candles and the holly she'd arranged on every shelf.
The impossibly good cookies she still somehow baked herself.
But these rich and tactile memories became quite pale and thin,
When measured by the Christmas my great Aunt kept deep within.
Her body halved and nearly spent, but my great Aunt was whole
I saw a Christmas miracle, the triumph of a soul!
The triple beat of two feet and a crutch came down the hall,
The rattle of the china in the hutch against the wall.
She poured two cups. She smiled and then she handed one to me,
And then we settled back and had a cup of Christmas tea.
Thank you for sharing this. My dad had stroke. He's well, but it gave us a scare.