The seeds that were planted

On a visit to my home early last spring, my dad, unbeknownst to me, planted some bulbs in my small garden. The bulbs lay in the ground for several months. As the sprouts pushed up through the soil, Tamara actually plucked out a few, thinking they were weeds. The flowers grew, but no blossoms ever appeared. Just a few days ago, a beautiful lily opened up, dazzling me with its large pink petals.

As I stooped over the lily this morning, guarding my camera from a light spring drizzle, I thought that the history of the unexpected lily in my garden was quite like the character traits and traditions that my father planted in me--now cropping up here and there as the conditions in my life allow for such full and fragrant blossoms. What a patient gardener my father must be to have sown such precious seeds and wait to see them bloom. I hope the soil of my heart will prove to be fertile, and I will nurture the garden that my father started.

Thanks, Dad. Thank you for helping shape the person that I am today. Thanks for telling me that you're proud of me. Thanks for telling me and showing me that you love me.

I love you, too.

Happy Father's Day.

Your son forever,
Jeremiah