A Veggie Pizza and a Side Order of Perspective

It’s the second time my dad has tried. Last time, the only thing that grew was a strange, tall plant which he claims he never planted. It took a while for him to realize that the plant was not giving any fruit that resembled any of the pictures in front of the many seed packets he had used. In his (paraphrased) words, he was taking care of a child which was not his. While that in itself can be a story, I am not writing about a strange plant today. No, I am writing because this time around, there were no strange plants growing. This time, the picture on the packet of seeds suddenly had replicas of itself growing on the many shrubs and vines that had sprouted. My dad’s first harvest was that of a miniature tomato, a miniature bell pepper, and a miniature zucchini, enough for a miniature veggie pizza. But what enthralled me the most was not the harvest, but the harvester.

                What is harvested in the family orchard is invariably eaten. The plants have started producing larger fruits, and just the other day we had the first cucumber, although it went sour in a few minutes. But it all goes back to the harvester. He did not start off as a harvester; rather he started off as a dreamer. What others saw as a patch of earth, he saw as a dinner-growing vegetable patch. But it started off as a dream. Had he not seen the fruits in his head he would not have bought the seeds. He also had to have a purpose for these veggies because taking care of plants requires money and time—especially money and time. Money to pay the water and fertilizer. Time to water the plants—done in the mornings when the average person is still hitting the snooze button for the third time. Watching the plants grow, guiding the vines, trimming this wayward branch, killing bugs--it’s not an easy task. It occurred to me that if I ever wanted my dreams to come true I would not only have to work on them when I like the results, but especially when things go bad. I’m very sure that my dad sometimes questioned his drive, the reason for these veggies. But it was all worth it in the end.

“A miracle happened!”

Pizza toppings? It’s more than that in my father’s eyes, because he was able to reap the benefits of what he sowed all those weeks ago. To me, he was the agent in another work of creation from God, and why can’t all our dreams be just that? Be the agents of the hand of God, even—especially—when things don’t go our way.

The melon never satisfied, and the pineapple never grew. But my dad still went out there every morning. Even if the melons and pineapples didn't come out, his time was not wasted; those miracles just might end up making him happy in more ways than one.