she hands me a long, seedless dandelion. its petals are faded–missing, like teeth in an old man.

“um, thank you?” i say to my sister, who’s come over for evening tea.

she laughs. “he told me to give it to you. i prayed, asking what flower to bring you, and God told me to find the tallest dandelion–and so i did. then he said to tell you that just like this flower, whose seeds are on the wind, your book is out of your hands–its seeds are in God’s hands, to be planted and bear fruit, in good time.”

tears sprout. she’s talking about Mum’s Dance–the book i’ve written for mum. the one with my agent. lately, it would seem, there’s no hope. rejection after rejection. “strong story but not right for our list”… their words dangle, cold and meaningless. like the dandelion, my book appears dead. withered. i haven’t had the strength to pray to God about it lately; so discouraged. so instead, he spoke to my sister. and she carried his words, like seeds on the wind, to me.

they fall on the soil of my heart; take root. hope, on spindly stems, reaching up for the sun, daring to grow. daring to believe.

later that night i pick up my Bible to press the dandelion between its pages. it opens directly to psalm 20:4; “may he give you the desire of your heart, and make all your plans succeed.”

once again, i weep. for small miracles like dandelion seeds.