Every spring I take a trip to the Dollar Store for gardening supplies because I am a fancy horticulturalist. Every spring I scan the aisles for the familiar and exchange three dollars and fifteen cents for three pink boxes brimmed with wildflower seeds. Every spring I sprinkle and scatter a thousand seeds and take a gentle film of dirt over them. This has become my tradition. After the seeds are flung to the earth, I have faith that something will grow, even if I have no idea what.
Slowly, eventually, the flowers bloom: yellow daisies push back the dirt and stretch to sky, flowers I cannot name emerge cloaked in color: magenta, lavender, sunset, maroon.
I think sometimes we have a grand notion that our purpose is this big thing we stumble upon, like a great harvest of sorts, but what if it’s instead in planting the seeds? Maybe we don’t find the whole purpose at once, but we live all of our tiny moments into it? What if we do all the tiny things well and they grow into something greater?
“Do small things with great love.” –Mother Teresa