I liked being in his garden. And Dad loved gardening because he believed it was an act of worship. Gardening reminded him that God exists, that God must exist, because how else could one plant a mere seed into the dirt and watch as the earth itself would transform it with only a little water and tiny bees to act as stewards? And soon that tiny, seemingly insignificant seed would be replaced by a flower, a tree, even fruit to eat. And is that not amazing? he’d say with all the passion of a Sufi poet. Does it not make you believe in the beauty of the world?
