Love flowers. Hate weeds.

My grandfather was a gardener extraordinaire.

But he was no lightweight. He was a salty man, rough and tumble, his character formed on the high seas as a member of the merchant marines. He had been in fights in every port and knew how to bang a few trashcans.

There’s an amazing transformation that happens to a person when they take seed to soil. It’s a perfect picture of hope and faith, work and grace.

More men should garden, because we need the lessons that the earth can teach us that we will never learn from golf or talk radio or waxing the car.

This year, I’ve taken a liking to growing things. Perhaps it’s changes in my life. Perhaps it’s a picture my mom gave me of grandpa standing next to his tall stalks of corn.. Dropping flower seeds in empty spaces, I’m not a gardener yet, but I’m kind of liking it. I’ve been successful in some places, and a failure in others. I’m learning about soil preparation, water and sun and the symbioses of God’s provision.

I remember something granddad said: “You have to love flowers and hate the weeds.”

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