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How Green the Grass Grows
by Ralph Jones



Wasn’t that the title for a book or play? Seems that I remember it from someplace; however, that is exactly what I thought this morning as I awoke and looked out our large rear window. Although we live in the city, we cannot see any houses from our back windows, only vegetation. How green it is. The entire morning seemed to be alive and full of chlorophyll and other such greenery. Only one part of the yard had a dull gray wood fence, but even there are green trees immediately behind and above it and green grass in the foreground. It seemed that one would be overcome by the green if he ventured out into this beautiful world.

The very air seemed to be tinted green and well it may have been with the pollen and other type growing things floating in the air. All the cars in our neighborhood turn green each spring. Wash them today and tomorrow they will be green again. I expect our old tomcat to come in colored green one of these mornings.

Our daughter, who lives in upstate New York, returned home for a visit in the spring one year, probably about Easter. Almost the first thing she said as she came into our home was, “I never realized that Mississippi and Tennessee were such green states.” Although she had lived here all her life and has only been away a few years, she had to recapture the beauty of our forevermore-green countryside. While we are celebrating Easter and the children are enjoying hunting Easter eggs in the green grass, northerners are often still shoveling snow off their lawns and driveways. Although our daughter's area is beautiful, spring is a long time in coming, and even then the green does show up, it does not seem to be as brilliant and overpowering as our hills and hollows.

How thankful I am to have lived in a lush green land, to be able to walk out and behold the beauty of nature and see God’s handy work all about. To sit in the porch swing and realize God sure knew what He was doing as he planted the trees and bushes and grass. Then throw in a robin’s or mocking bird’s song and it begins to approach perfect. The only thing left to actually make it perfect is to have a precious little two-year-old granddaughter climb up into Papaw’s lap, snuggle up under his arm, and look and listen in amazement. Now that is perfect !

Thank you Lord for all you send our way. Forgive us for sometimes passing by and never seeing the beauty. Thank you for stopping us at times, like this morning, for a glimpse of your wonderful handiwork.

“He hath made everything beautiful in His time…” Ecclesiastes 3:11a


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Read more of Ralph's stories:
The Storm That Never Came
DDT ~ Yum! Yum!

Want to leave a comment on Ralph’s story?
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or write Ye Editor at bethjacks@hotmail.com.

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