lessons learned:  dandelions and faith
lessons learned: dandelions and faith

lessons learned: dandelions and faith

This morning I came across this blessing in Jan Richardson’s book In the Sanctuary of Women.  “Rootedness” seems to be a theme in my life right now so I thought I would repost this meditation.

May your roots go deep

and deeper still

into the holy ground of God. 

~Jan Richardson

Last week, we had some gentle rain showers which soaked the land well.  After one such morning, I threw on the boots and headed outside to pull some weeds.  You see, I’ve quit using pesticides and in some cases, I just leave the weeds be, but when they start to encroach on the nutrients our vegetables need, then I take action.

Right beside the sugar snap pea trellis sat a fat, yellow dandelion.  She mocked me with her size as if to say, “No tool you have will get rid of me.”  I glared at her then patiently began to tug.  Yes, I do have tools to remove even the toughest of weeds, but for some reason, I was determined to take care of this bully myself.   Tugging a deeply rooted plant takes patience, and I was in it to win it.dandelion

I say most of it because as any gardener knows, with some plants, if you leave any part of the root, it’s only a matter of time before a new plant appears.  You see, being rooted takes strength and intentionality.  If you think about a root, it grows more deeply as it seeks out the source of its sustenance.  The more it is fed by what it needs, the stronger it becomes.

It’s like faith.  Being rooted in it serves not only to ground us but also to grow us.  Being rooted is more than just seeking balance–it is growing more deeply not only in our connection with God but also in relationship with ourselves.  We know that whatever comes our way, we have the foundation for maintaining a sense of peace and wholeness, even when someone or something tugs at us, trying to uproot us.

So what became of that dandelion out by the trellis, well, I got a good chunk of her out of the ground.  I imagine, however, that deep under mulch and soil, a piece of her awaits, and she soon will rise again.

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