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I love dirt.

The sight.

The smell.

And especially the feel of it sifting through my fingers.

I even love foods with an “earthy” taste.

Ironically, putting my hands in the earth makes me feel close to heaven.

Grounded.

Maybe it’s the fact that God chose to make Adam from “the dust of the ground”.

It is our origin.

And we’re told later, “to dust you will return”.

I love this thought.

All living things depend on soil to live – so maybe I see it as life.

It is, after all, where roots grow and anchor a plant so that it can stand and survive. And without plants, we won’t exist.

The joy of spring is in the soil. Dig. Prepare. Plant. Then wait with great anticipation.

We tend to separate “heaven” and “earth”. He is there. We are here.

But I sense heaven in the earth. His handiwork. His choice of materials when creating man.

So having my hands in the dirt is like a meditation. A prayer. A gift.

Of thanksgiving.

Of praise.

Of hope.

Dirty hands. Happy heart.

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