That bucket of dirt connects all.

The Tree of  Life.

And when these cells of life die? When they hither and whither. Crisp and curl. Rigour and stiffen in death? Every last one of them returns to the source of life. To the earth. To this bucket of dirt. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

And more than that –

This iPad I am typing on? The bed I am sprawled on? The sheets, the duvet, the curtains, furniture, windows, lights, bricks, roof, foundations, roads … All of that comes from this bucket of earth in one way or another.

The cars we drive, the planes in which we fly, the shoes in which we walk. The skinnies in which we dip (maybe) … All of that as well.

The Supremacy of the Son of God

15The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. 16 For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. 17 He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18 And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. 19 For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross. Colossians 1:17-20 NIV

Yes, Jesus holds Paul’s iPad in being, the sheets I am sitting on, this Samsung Gallaxy Android – posh but still knitted together with God particles. The whole world is in his hands, you and me brother, in his hands and the rest we used to sing. Hands full of dirt, letting it trickle to earth with every newborn baby’s cry. That each clod of us is a scattering, dribbled part of the One Clod.

And do you know what else? The Parable of the sower, A farmer went out to sow and some fell on good soil, thin soil,rocky soil. The depth of the dirt determined potentiality but us little human sparks, we had our jobs to do. Reach ever upward to the sun, grow where you are planted, you might need to fight harder, be courser when you grow through rock and gravel.

But that wasn’t the message, it is the kind of soil we are that determines our place in the Garden. Healthy Souls emerge from fine tilth, Souls with staying power, focusing on the Good, loving the other grains, the other dirt siblings. Not becoming distracted by  the beyond the bucket, getting choked by ideas of grandure glimpsed of an Eden too far away, whose dirt was forfeit when little clods wanted to know Almighty Clod that they might be just the same, not have to work so hard, not have to guess…

There is only so far that dirt will take us before we need to begin to grow up through it and the God Clod has seeded this dirt with wondrous seeds to grow. A touch from divinity and we Are.

Metaphors mixed like flour and water grow something with a little yeast. Grow love of God and humanity.

It can be so difficult to love even conditionally, we can be jealous, scared, bullies and bullied, feigning love to stave off pain. The pain of the knowledge of good and evil – knowing the latter sticks to our bones, gets under our skin.

To love with the love He first loved us. To  become a meld of grains of dirt wrapped up in love, caring for one another because if we don’t it all falls apart.

If it succeeds,and love is unconditional, non transactional-then when it is then we become the most beautiful tree in the Garden. The Trunk our God, we His branches and our beautiful leaves the fruit of the love between a grain and a grain  and a grain of soil.

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