Have you ever woken up to filtered sunlight pressing through your windows, birds chattering madly, and the smell of grass sifting its way into your sinuses?

Yesterday, our family armed ourselves with sheers, gloves, weeding buckets, rakes, hand shovels, and a lawn mower to do the first landscape beautification effort of the season.  Today, we’re a little sore, a little sniffley, and a little sleepy.

Wow, was it worth it!

Some century-old hedges still need some attention, and the hydrangeas need to be shown who is boss, but the delicate loveliness of quiet chartreuse stalks arching out of the soil are enough to drive a person to speechlessness.

“How do they know when to grow?” our daughter asked.  “And what they’re supposed to be?”

“God puts it all inside,” was the simplest answer I had to offer.

How do our cells know that one is meant to go become an ear and another an eye?  How does my stomach acid not burn through my stomach?  How does a mother know the cry of her child as soon as it’s born?  Science would say, “Oh, that’s easy.  DNA is the blueprint.”  But how did our DNA know to become a blueprint?  How can it be so complex to house the information of thousands of generations and still fit in the end of each of our hair follicles?

My mind cannot comprehend DNA or how a raspberry seed that gets stuck in my teeth can make an entire raspberry bush that must be cut low every year.

I only know that God puts it all inside.