I have thought of my father much this weekend, and mostly when I do, I smile. I am sure that he would shake his head and possibly chuckle at the new bucket of potatoes I have growing in the hallway. The stems are thick and the leaves a dark, vibrant green in the morning light. Planting that bucket was a moment of wonderful calm. I will always associate the joys of gardening with my father who found his calm in that way. I think he used to find his calm on the water too. In the garden or on the water, I think one thing he modeled for me was how to take a deep breath and keep moving forward even into the unknown. Maybe that’s why I thought of him as I read a passage from a sermon about Shores of Light.
“There are people even in this troubled and confused world who are continually like plants reaching upward toward the shores of light. When those shores are completely hidden from our sight by mist and fog, when we can see nothing but this present world from which time sweeps us away with almost no consideration at all, we look at them and we say, The shores of light must still be there.” — Theodore P. Ferris
Words + Images 