Stick Garden, East of Eden

This last weekend, my parents blessed me by keeping the boys and allowing Tara and I to spend some much needed time together. As I was getting the download on how their weekend went, my dad started telling me about a garden that they had created...a stick garden.


They furrowed the hard earth with their shovels, picked just the right sticks and with hopes of a giant forest, sowed their garden. Cole was still excited when I talked to him that night.

Lets face it, they are dead branches, long dried in the cool winter air. But who would tell them? Who would dash their dreams? All you have to offer is dead wood with no hope of life.

Sometimes, it seems, that is what I have to offer. My spirit parched, my limbs hollow...kindling that may only be good for the fire. My best can seem so very little, when I am far from Eden. Maybe there is something to be learned in the dreams of small children, about a God that brings new life to things that many think are dead.