Jesus seemed to have a fondness for small things.
Mustard seeds,
cakes of yeast,
a little trust,
scruffy kids.
 
He marveled at growth as much as I do,
stunned every summer by the size of a corn stalk
whose beginning was one yellow kernel.
 
Not every small thing that grows is good though
(I protest)
weeds,
hate,
a deadly virus.
 
Let them grow up together, he said.
Wheat and weeds.
Maybe he should stick to teaching
since he’s not much of a farmer.
 
But maybe he was onto something.
 
A microscopic virus spreads out of control
and we feel choked,
displaced,
entangled.  
 
But Jesus keeps planting seeds to grow up alongside.
Seeds of love,
hope,
sunrises,
pain,
silly memes,
somber songs.
 
Let them grow together, he says. 
Let me worry about what comes next.