For the first few days, nothing happens. The earth remains unbroken, indifferent to your investment. A gardener could easily forget where the seed was sown. This is the lesson of patience. In the silence of the soil, a secret chemistry is unfolding. The seed must first die to its old self—cracking its own hull in an act of radical trust—before it can reach for the light.
To plant a mustard seed is to learn three things: first, that the smallest act of hope is never wasted; second, that growth happens unseen and in its own time; and finally, that what starts as a pinch of dust can become a shelter for the whole world. planting mustard seeds
What emerges is a testament to proportion. From the smallest beginning comes the most audacious growth. The stem thickens. The leaves broaden into rough, sandpapery circles. Within weeks, the seedling becomes a bush. Within months, if left unchecked, it becomes a small, sprawling tree—a haven for insects, a beacon of yellow flowers that shimmer like a second sun. For the first few days, nothing happens
