Dandelion

I was taking a walk down a long lane.
the sun was shining, wind was singing.
one foot, the other, this food, the other,
mind wandering, time ticking,
glancing at clouds,leaves,a robin.
my gaze falls to a dandelion.
how out of place.
how sad to be a weed in such a beautiful world,
yet, what is a weed.
just a planted in the wrong place,
just not like everything else,
just different.

This dandelion stuck in my head,
one foot, the other, this foot, the other,
I feel like that dandelion.
different, out of place, singled out.
imperfect, less than beautiful, purpose-less.
then a whisper...
a voice?
no, but yes, I know it well.
for He tells secrets to my heart.
He whispers to me...
my garden is made of dandelions.

a garden,
not full of weeds, but full of beauty.
for even though here you do not belong,
my garden is full of dandelions.
for you are different,
called, set-apart, out of place.
but in place, because you are not here on accident.
Dandelion, don't be ashamed.
don't be ashamed to be who you are.
for your imperfections make my garden all the more beautiful.
You are exactly what I planned to grow here.

Dandelion, you have a purpose.
you are in my garden.

my heart skips a beat,
one foot, the other, this foot, the other,
the sun is shining, the wind is singing,
my soul is smiling.