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Sunday, April 17, 2022


Our daughter is a poet, and we are so proud of her. However, she's a lot smarter than her parents and we don't always understand her poetry. One time she explained to me, "The beauty of a poem is that it touches people in individual ways." The poem that Holly wrote for Arlington County's remembrance honoring residents who lost their lives to COVID is below. Yet, it also says to me, "It's going to be O.K. no matter what happens. God is good and we'll get through it. Yes, 'wonder is contagious,' and we have faith because JESUS CHRIST IS RISEN TODAY."

I hope this poem speaks to you personally.  Perhaps the seeds will remind you of the children you teach.  Maybe it's a reminder that we often need to "leave them alone" and wait.  Have faith in yourself and our world.  Hold tighter to the ones you love.  WOW!   It's a wonderful world!!!!

The past few years have been so difficult for our community, and last winter (the winter of 2021) was particularly challenging. We were dealing with illness and loss; our kids and families were exhausted from trying to adapt to online learning; and we were also dealing with a general mental health collapse because of the quarantine and social isolation. It felt like the world was broken in so many ways, and in order to combat our despair, my daughter and I decided to plant a garden. I wrote this poem especially for the remembrance today, looking back on my experience a little over a year ago.


My daughter and I are planting seeds. 
It’s early spring, 
the long Covid winter behind us, 
more uncertainty ahead.
We've stopped numbering our griefs,
started holding tighter
to the loved ones still with us.

I dig small holes with my fingers
and my daughter drops in seeds
then we both smooth dirt on top. 
When she was younger she worried
when the seeds disappeared;
she’d try to dig them up again
to make sure they were okay. 
Now she’s older, patient.
She knows to leave them alone, 
to water them and wait. 

Every day she goes out with the watering can to check
and one afternoon about a week later
she’s jumping by the window, 
motioning for me to come outside and see 
the small green sprouts that will become lettuce or peas. 

Wow, she whispers, 
and because her wonder is contagious 
I allow myself to be amazed, too, 
by how the earth keeps going,
putting forth its tiny seeds 
after every long winter
having faith
some of them will dig in roots and grow.