By My Ink Dance
my ink dance
When Faith Looks A Lot Like Farming
by Becky Hastings
I planted a seed today. Not a real seed that will bring forth something edible, but I certainly hope there will be fruit. And I desperately hope it will be beautiful.
I planted the seed of an idea.
Emily Freeman wrote beautiful and brave about her seed planting in her email A Note from the Bench. (If you’ve never read her words, head here. I always get her email and think I don’t have time, but then I read it and see how thirsty I was for what she wrote.) She inspired me to think differently.
I have this journal. My mom got it for me, knowing my heart as only a mama can. The cover reads, “Someday these words will make me famous.”
And I never wrote in it. For years I left the pages blank because it was such a bold proclamation and I wasn’t ready and what if I’m wrong and I am that girl could only wear her Wednesday socks on Wednesday, so the pages sat empty.
Until they didn’t.
Until I decided that I could write ideas. I could use this journal as a place for thoughts and notes and book titles and post ideas. I could write whatever I wanted on those pages.
And since I read Emily’s note, I see my notes in a whole new way. These musings, thoughts, broken fragments, these are my seeds. Some will grow into something beautiful and fruitful. Some will not. And that is the life of a farmer.