1420. The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. ~Henry Miller

Each blade of grass has its spot on earth
whence it draws its life, its strength;
and so man is rooted to the land from which
he draws his faith together with his life.
~Joseph Conrad

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In what I assume was a poetic conversation with the Lord, Edna St. Vincent Millay, an American lyrical poet, said “God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.” In another instance, a Quaker and itinerant preacher named Elias Hicks wrote that “the fullness of the godhead dwelt in every blade of grass.” And Thomas Carlyle, a Scottish satirical writer and teacher rhetorically asked, “To us also, through every star, through every blade of grass, is not God made visible if we will open our minds and our eyes.” Like me, these writers realize that man was meant to be “rooted to the land and therefore to God.” Sadly, however, in today’s world because many no longer live close to the land, the “umbilical cord,” as it were, that used to connect all humanity to the land and God has been severed. In fact there are some who have never even been close enough to the land to reach down into earth’s hallowed ground, and one simply cannot grow roots to connect to concrete and steel or find anything sacred or nurturing in them. Thankfully though, in an effort to reconnect people with the land and to provide healthier food for the residential inner city dwellers of this country there are those who are finding places to build community gardens so that people get involved in caring for the land and reaping harvests from it once again. Equally good is the fact that a fair share of schools across the nation are incorporating habitat gardens into the learning experiences of their students. As a whole we may no longer live in a primarily agrarian society, but as always God helps His children find ways to remain connected to His good earth and to Him. For there is something so very holy in picking the “fruit” of one’s labors in the soil and putting it in the mouth; it is the biblical “manna” that not only feeds the belly but also feeds the soul.

Every blade of grass
 has its angel
that bends over it and
whispers, 
“Grow, grow!”
~The Talmud

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You care for the land and water it; you enrich it abundantly. The streams of God are filled with water to provide the people with grain, for so you have ordained it. You drench its furrows and level its ridges; you soften it with showers and bless its crops. You crown the year with your bounty, and your carts overflow with abundance.The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness.The meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing. ~Psalm 65:9-13 ✝

**Images via Pinterest and Pixabay

What Do Angels Look Like?

purpleraysblog's avatarPurplerays

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‘What Do Angels Look Like?
Like the little old lady who returned your wallet yesterday.
Like the taxi driver who told you that your eyes light up the world when you smile.
Like the small child who showed you the wonder in simple things.
Like the poor man who offered to share his lunch with you.
Like the rich man who showed you that it really is all possible, if only you believe.
Like the stranger who just happened to come along when you had lost your way.
Like the friend who touched your heart, when you didn’t think you had one.
Angels come in all sizes and shapes, all ages and skin types.
Some with freckles, some with dimples, some with wrinkles, some without.
They come disguised as friends, enemies, teachers, students, lovers and fools.
They don’t take life too seriously, they travel light.
They leave no forwarding address…

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Glittering

K.L.Laettner author(InfiniteZip)'s avatarPeace, Love and Patchouli

Days pass in endless mirth,
the soul glitters,
refined gold tinged beauty surrounds
the open heart that gives.
Day turns to night
giving birth to fertile dreamscapes
lost in stories of unknown form
drifting we embrace the ripples,
washed on waves of memory.
Faces and places seen from high
we flit in and out like fairies play
hide and seek behind bedtime clouds
peeking out to see,
we become a part of each segment
knowing we are somewhere in there
amongst the flowers that grow
soundless on meadows lushest lawn,
fragrance lifting on sun warmed air
and waving on autumn breezes
we stand tall and sparkle
shining in our knowledge
that each moment a splendid gift given
brings round a gift in return.

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