God has a way of making flowers grow.
He is both daring and direct about it.
If you know half the flowers that I know,
You do not doubt it.
He chooses some gray rock, austere and high,
For garden-plot, trafficks with sun and weather;
Then lifts an Indian paintbrush to the sky,
Half flame, half feather.
In desert places it is quite the same;
He delves at petal-plans, divinely, surely.
Until a bud too shy to have a name
He dares to sow the waste, to plow the rock.
Though Eden knew His beauty and His power,
He could not plant it in a yucca stalk,
A cactus flower.
—Sister Madeleva, "In Desert Places"
"There is no music, no worship, no love, when we take the world's wonders for granted."
—Rabbi Jules Harlow, There is No Singing without God: A Prayerbook for Shabbat, Festivals, and Weekdays
"Pick a flower on earth and you move the farthest star."
"That which is recorded on the heart is, alas, not Instagrammable."
—Liesl Schillinger, "In Praise of the Good Enough Holiday"
We sight the mornings softly
Take to them easy
The scent of the wood and coffee
Our cup is filling.
Outside the river flows
Its course unfolding
A strength it never knows
A sweet outpouring.
—Joan Shelley, "Over and Even"