I have an absurd patch of insidious grass I have to dig up by hand, girls. Hit me with your prayer requests!
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Gardening makes for most excellent theological ponderings.
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Precisely! (Also of course my dear)
Girls, I have begun to plant the garden.
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you are 23
and your hands hold steady the block of wood you are shaping
and the sweet aromatic smell of sawdust is curling around you
maybe your mother’s voice floats through an open door
to tell you a meal is ready
maybe you still have something to learn about carpentry
as you work alongside Joseph
30 years is a long time to spend waiting
quietly faithful,
caring for your mother and your father, for your sisters and your brothers
working with your hands ‘til the hands of God are calloused
going to the synagogue to hear your words read week upon week
you are 23
you are patient
building a whole life of not my will but yours, Father
maybe you pick up a nail from the workbench
look at it
and know 10 years from now
rough hands will hold you down and drive a spike through your wrist
spilling blood onto rough wood
maybe you are already making that sacrifice now
quietly faithful
maybe you can teach me how to be 23
waiting, quietly faithful
caring for my mother and my father, my sisters and my brothers
working with the hands God gave me
hearing your words week upon week
build in me a whole life of not my will but yours, Jesus
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(Besides photo spam and potato symbolism)
Girls, I have begun to plant the garden.
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You know what that means.
Girls, I have begun to plant the garden.
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Girls, I have begun to plant the garden.
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Update: I tried it
They don’t want you to know this but you can just put seeds in dirt and AND—!!!
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The face you get when you’re trying to take an aesthetically-lit filtered portrait photo of your homemade hamburger bun instead of fixing said bun up with a burger for the hungry children
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One thing that’s really cool about being made in the image of God is that it’s possible to cut potatoes into sort of medallion things and then toss ‘em in butter and oil and Italian seasoning and garlic and salt and pepper and then put down a rather absurdly generous sanding of Parmesan all across the parchment paper and then slap those oily seasoned potatoes right over the Parmesan and roast ‘em at 400 degrees until their undersides look about like so
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My oldest has duly warned all potential intruders.
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Abortion laws passed in 1864 are archaic and outdated and should have absolutely no bearing on current policy!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the chattel slavers have perked up their ears in a hopeful sort of way…
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Not sure if you’ve noticed but the hills are remembering green again.
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I have a suspicion that colds and other uncomfortable but ultimately mild illnesses that we start having as very tiny children and continue to have all our lives are intended as catechism to instruct us that you will not feel like this forever, tomorrow or maybe next week you will not be so phlegmy/congested/achy/sad/discouraged/tired. You have an immune system. Let the reader understand.
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This isn’t a profound spiritual metaphor I’m just making brioche
Imagine having the kind of courage that lets the dough rise when it’s not quite cleaning the sides of the bowl yet.
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Imagine having the kind of courage that lets the dough rise when it’s not quite cleaning the sides of the bowl yet.
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