As a child I can remember planting tiny seeds in a cup of soil and waiting anxiously for the first sigh of life to sprout forth. I would water and nurture my tiny seed holding on to the belief of something magical appearing at any moment. After a week or so a very tiny growth of green would emerge from the dark spoil adding to my excitement that my seed would be a thriving bloom of beauty. The hope of a child is a pure act of love; a love that holds on to the beauty of life rather than sees the impossibility of the world. A humbling heart that anchors to the promise instead of disbelief. As I grew older I no longer planted seeds in a cup but I did and still do try my best to plant seeds of love and hope in the cracks of hearts that are broken, abandoned or bruised. It can be hard to wait for the seeds which are planted to grow. It can become a painful process when watching someone I love struggle to break through the dark soil of the world. If I over water my seed, ...