The Dandelion and the Parable
Growing With God: The Seeds We Sow, the Gifts We Carry, and a Never-Ending Love
The dandelion. A beautiful little yellow flower that so many consider nothing more than a weed. Something unwanted, something that doesn't belong among the beautiful flowers of a garden.
But how does that relate to you and God?
Let's turn to Matthew 13:3–9, where Jesus tells the Parable of the Sower.
Here, Jesus speaks of a man who went out to sow seeds. Some fell along the pathway, some upon rocky ground, others among thorns, and some upon good soil.
When we continue reading Matthew 13:18–23, Jesus explains how these different conditions represent the ways people receive the Word of God.
Now, when we first hear about thorns choking out what is growing, we might begin to picture weeds as something bad, evil, or not of God.
Yet why does the dandelion seem to grow just about anywhere, even in places where nothing else appears able to grow?
That is what I would like to discuss here. The angle and the view through which we choose to look for God in the things around us.
You see, the dandelion has many benefits. Its flowers provide food for pollinators, its leaves and roots have been used for generations, and nearly every part of the plant has found a purpose.
Yet we call it a weed.
Now, suppose you were growing an entire field of dandelions to harvest and sell. Would those dandelions still be weeds? Or would they suddenly become a valuable crop because someone found a purpose for them?
It makes one wonder about the thorns Jesus spoke of.
After all, even a rose, something we consider beautiful and worthy of admiration, can compete with surrounding plants for space, water, and nutrients. Its thorny stems can grow over and crowd neighboring plants.
So why is one considered beautiful while the other is something to be removed?
Was this a question people considered even back when Jesus walked the earth?
We could spend hours guessing what people thought thousands of years ago. But instead of guessing, let's turn back to Scripture.
What Did God Give Us?
In Genesis 1:29 (KJV), God says:
> "Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat."
Now, isn't that interesting?
God speaks of seed-bearing plants as something He has provided. And earlier, in Genesis 1:12, we read that God saw the vegetation He had created and that it was good.
So where does that leave our little dandelion?
Something the world considers a weed can still have value, purpose, and a place within God's creation.
Perhaps the problem isn't always what is growing.
Perhaps sometimes it is the way we have been taught to look at it.
And isn't that much like the way we look at people?
How many times have you felt like the weed in someone else's garden? Like you didn't belong, weren't good enough, or simply weren't what someone else wanted you to be?
How many times have others looked at where you came from, what you have been through, or the struggles you carry and decided what you were capable of becoming?
Yet here stands this little dandelion, growing through cracks in sidewalks, along roadsides, and in places where someone would swear nothing beautiful could survive.
It doesn't seem concerned about whether someone calls it a flower or a weed.
It simply grows.
When Creation Rejoices
Let's turn to Isaiah 55:12 (KJV):
> "For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."
Now, think about that little dandelion seed.
It falls upon the earth, sometimes finding itself between rocks or in the smallest crack in the ground.
Then something begins to happen.
The seed opens. Its roots begin reaching downward, finding what they need to grow. Above them, new life begins pushing toward the sunlight.
And there, between the rocks, the little dandelion breaks through.
The mountains sing, the trees clap their hands, and a tiny seed finds its way into the world God created.
Isn't that something?
We often look at the rocks in our lives as obstacles. Things standing in the way of where we want to go or who we are trying to become.
Yet here is a little flower the world calls a weed, finding a way to grow between them.
And perhaps that is something we should consider when we read the Parable of the Sower.
Are we allowing the rocks in our lives to stop our growth with God, or are we allowing our faith to take root and find its way through?
Because sometimes the greatest growth begins beneath the surface, long before anyone else can see what God is bringing forth.
The Dandelion: When the Weed Becomes Its Own Thorn
Now, isn't the dandelion the perfect flower to help us look at the Parable of the Sower from another angle?
Think about it. Its seeds scatter upon the wayside, among the rocks, between the thorns, and into good soil. Yet wherever the dandelion finds a place to take root, it reaches toward the light.
Imagine a tiny dandelion seed lying beneath the earth.
It begins to open, sending its roots downward and reaching upward, only to discover rocks standing in its way.
The little seed cries out to God.
"Why have you placed me here? I am nothing but a weed. No one wants me. They say I have no beauty, no purpose, and no gifts to offer. Even if I grow, someone will only come along and pull me from the ground."
But God hears the little seed.
He turns to the rocks, the very creation that knows to cry out, and tells them to make a way for His child.
And the seed begins to break through.
At last, it reaches the sunlight.
But something happens.
Even though the rocks are no longer blocking its path, the little dandelion still feels as though it cannot grow.
It looks around at the roses, the lilies, and the beautiful flowers surrounding it.
"Look at them," the dandelion says. "They are beautiful. People plant them, water them, and care for them. But I am only a weed. No matter how much I grow, I will never be anything more."
And with every word, the little dandelion begins to feel smaller.
The sunlight is there. Its roots are growing. The ground is providing what it needs.
Yet it cannot see the gifts it carries.
It has begun believing the very words others spoke about it.
And isn't that something?
The dandelion has broken through the rocks, but now its own words are becoming the thorns that choke its growth.
What if the very weed we fear will choke us out is the voice we have allowed to grow within ourselves?
How often do we do that?
We ask God to make a way, and when a way appears, we begin telling ourselves why we cannot continue.
We say we aren't good enough. We aren't beautiful enough. We have nothing worth giving. We don't belong among those who seem to have everything.
And before we realize it, we have allowed those words to take root.
The seed has reached the light, yet the words growing within it are keeping it from recognizing the very place God has brought it to.
Then God hears the little dandelion once again.
And He answers:
"But you are in the good soil, my child."
"Do you not see how you have grown? You cried out when the rocks stood before you, and I heard you. I told the rocks to make a way, and they did. You reached for the light, and here you stand. Yet now you speak against the very life growing within you."
And perhaps this is where we should ask ourselves something.
If the rocks did as God said and broke, why do you see God as having no power to make a way for your life?
Think about that.
We spend so much time looking at what stands before us that we sometimes fail to recognize what God has already done.
The dandelion didn't move those rocks on its own. It grew because a way was made for it.
And even after reaching the sunlight, it still questioned whether it belonged there.
Isn't that much like us?
We pray for a way forward, yet when one appears, we begin questioning whether we deserve it.
We ask God to help us grow, yet sometimes we continue speaking as though we have no gifts worth growing.
But perhaps we are overlooking something greater.
God's work does not begin when we finally recognize it, nor does His design end when we begin doubting ourselves.
Look at the dandelion.
Its roots help it gather what it needs from the earth. Its flowers provide nourishment for living creatures. Its seeds are designed to travel upon the wind, carrying the possibility of another generation.
Each part has a purpose.
Even before the little dandelion understood what it could become, those possibilities were already within it.
And isn't that something to consider about God's grand design?
We often see only the moment we are living in. The rock standing before us, the thorn surrounding us, or the beautiful flowers we believe we can never become.
Yet God's creation reveals relationships far greater than any single flower.
The soil supports the roots. The roots support the flower. The flower produces seeds. The wind carries those seeds to places the original flower could never reach.
One life becomes part of something much greater.
And perhaps that is where the dandelion begins to understand.
It was never required to become a rose.
It was meant to grow into the fullness of the gifts it already carried.
But what happens if it continues calling itself worthless?
What happens when the very words it speaks become the thorns that choke its own growth?
Could we be so busy believing we are weeds that we fail to recognize God's work unfolding within us?
Jesus tells us in John 14:6 (KJV):
> "I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me."
If Jesus is the way, why do we believe there can be no way?
If God hears us, why do we believe we have been forgotten?
And if God has given His creation gifts that continue through generations, why do we allow others to convince us that we have none?
Perhaps growing with God requires more than changing how we see ourselves.
Perhaps it requires recognizing that God is already at work in ways we may not yet understand.
The dandelion may see only a crack in the ground.
But through that crack, an entire generation of flowers may one day grow.
The Soil We Believe We Are In
Now let's return to the Parable of the Sower.
Jesus explains that the seed falling upon good soil represents those who hear the Word, understand it, and become fruitful.
But what happens when we begin believing that the ground we are standing upon determines whether we are worthy of growing?
What happens when the world calls us weeds?
Do we begin to believe we have no purpose?
Do we allow the opinions of others to become the thorns that choke our growth?
Or do we continue developing our roots with God?
You see, the dandelion doesn't need to become a rose to have a purpose.
It doesn't need someone to plant it in a beautiful garden before it can grow.
And it doesn't stop being part of God's creation simply because someone decides it doesn't belong.
The question isn't whether someone else believes you are growing in good soil. The question is whether you are allowing God's Word to take root within you.
And that brings me to something I remember from my childhood.
Blowing Kisses: A Childhood Memory
I remember a boy who liked me when we were children.
Like many boys trying to get a girl's attention, he had his own way of showing it. He would try to scare me.
He was a boy who liked bugs, something so natural to the world around us, but he knew they could get a reaction out of me.
One day, I picked a dandelion.
And I asked him:
"If they are mother's free presents why are we the weeds with no gifts?"
Think about that for a moment.
How many children have picked a dandelion and proudly carried it home to their mother?
They don't see a weed.
They see a flower.
A beautiful gift that costs nothing but carries something far more valuable than money.
Love.
Yet isn't it interesting how something considered a weed can become a gift when someone recognizes its beauty?
And how often have people been treated in much the same way?
As a Native American, I grew up understanding the importance of Mother Earth and the gifts found within creation.
Yet there are those who look upon Native American beliefs and traditions as something wrong. Some have even called us the devil's seeds, as though honoring Mother Earth means we have no gifts from God.
But if God created the earth and all that grows upon it, why would recognizing those gifts make us something unwanted?
Why would a dandelion be considered a beautiful gift when placed in a mother's hands, yet the people who honor Mother Earth be treated as weeds with nothing to offer?
Perhaps that is something worth thinking about.
Because sometimes the way people look at us has more to do with what they have been taught to believe than with what God has placed within us.
And just like the dandelion, we may carry gifts that others have never taken the time to recognize.
I remember telling that boy:
"I will send you my love as I grow so we never forget each other."
Like a never-ending love with no goodbye.
And perhaps that is where the dandelion became something even more meaningful to me.
The Seeds of Eden: Who Belongs in God's Garden?
And perhaps this brings us to another question about the seeds we speak of.
In Jewish, Christian, and Islamic traditions, Abraham holds an important place in the understanding of ancestry, faith, and the generations that followed.
We hear of Abraham's seed, his descendants, and the promises carried through generations.
But what about the people whose ancestors were already living upon these lands long before colonization?
Native American peoples have passed down stories of creation, the earth, and their ancestors through generations. Among the beliefs and interpretations surrounding these traditions is the idea that the Garden of Eden, the place where humanity began, was upon these very lands.
Now, consider the question this raises.
Since Native Americans were already living upon these lands long before colonization, carrying their ancestral histories, traditions, and creation stories through generations, why should they be considered the devil's seeds rather than children of God's creation?
In Genesis, the serpent enters the garden, and humanity's relationship with God changes.
But does that mean the people who identify their ancestral beginnings with the garden should be blamed for the serpent?
And if someone believes their ancestors came before Abraham, does that make them less deserving of God's love?
Isn't that another way people can begin calling one another weeds?
We look at ancestry, traditions, and beliefs, and we begin deciding which seeds belong in God's garden.
Yet the dandelion reminds us of something.
A seed does not lose its gifts because someone questions where it came from.
And if God created the garden, the earth, and all that grows upon it, why would we assume that those who honor Mother Earth have no gifts from Him?
Perhaps the question we should be asking isn't whose seed is worthy of growing.
Perhaps it is why we have allowed our differences to become the thorns that choke the love we were meant to share.
And wasn't Jesus Himself given a crown of thorns?
In Matthew 27:29, the soldiers placed a crown of thorns upon His head to mock Him.
Think about that.
Something growing from the earth was used as an instrument of humiliation against the very person Christians recognize as the Son of God.
And still, those thorns did not stop His love.
So when we look upon another person and call them a weed, perhaps we should remember the crown of thorns.
Are we recognizing God's creation, or are we using our judgments to place thorns upon one another?
And when we allow those judgments to become our own voice, are we placing those same thorns upon ourselves?
The Seeds We Send Into the World
The dandelion begins as a bright yellow flower. As it matures, it transforms into a delicate white globe filled with seeds.
Then the wind comes.
And one by one, those seeds are carried away.
Some fall upon pathways.
Some among rocks.
Others among thorns.
And some upon good soil.
Just as Jesus described in the parable.
But now consider something else.
The dandelion doesn't lose its purpose when it releases its seeds. It fulfills another part of it.
And perhaps love is much the same.
We give it, share it, and send it into the world without always knowing where it will land.
As children, we blow upon those little white seeds, watching them float away like kisses carried upon the wind.
We don't know how far they will travel.
We don't know where they will settle.
And we don't know which ones will eventually grow into another flower.
But each carries the possibility of new life.
Isn't that something?
One little flower can produce seeds that may become many more flowers.
One act of kindness can inspire another.
One lesson can become wisdom passed from one generation to the next.
And one expression of love can remain with someone long after the moment itself has passed.
Perhaps that is another way to look at the seeds we sow throughout our lives.
Not every seed we scatter will grow where we expect it to.
Not everyone will understand the love or wisdom we offer.
But that doesn't mean the gifts we carry are without purpose.
Sometimes we may never see what grows from the seeds we have shared.
And sometimes the smallest gift becomes something another person remembers for a lifetime.
A Never-Ending Love, With No Goodbye
And perhaps that is what makes the dandelion so special to me.
As children, we pick them as gifts for our mothers, never thinking about whether the world considers them weeds.
We see something beautiful, something freely given, and we offer it with love.
Then, as the dandelion grows, its yellow flower changes into a white globe of seeds waiting for the wind.
I remember telling that boy:
"I will send you my love as I grow so we never forget each other."
Like blowing kisses into the wind, each seed carries the possibility of something growing somewhere else.
And isn't that something like God's love for us?
We may grow apart from one another. We may travel different paths, experience hardships, or find ourselves in places where we feel unwanted.
Yet God's love does not end because our circumstances change.
Let's turn to Romans 8:38–39 (KJV), where Paul reminds us:
> "For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,
Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Now think about that little dandelion again.
The seed leaves the flower, but it doesn't leave behind the possibility of life. It carries that possibility wherever the wind takes it.
And perhaps that is something we can remember when we feel like the weeds in someone else's garden.
The world may decide what it considers beautiful. People may judge our beliefs, our traditions, or the way we understand the gifts of creation.
But does their judgment determine whether God loves us?
If God created the seed, knows the soil, and sees the roots growing beneath the rocks, why would we believe He cannot see us?
Why would we believe that because someone calls us a weed, we have no gifts to offer?
Perhaps we should stop asking whether we belong in someone else's garden and begin asking whether we are growing with God.
Because His love isn't something we must chase through the wind, hoping one day to find it.
It is already there.
Through every season, every struggle, and every new beginning.
And just as those little dandelion seeds travel beyond where the flower first grew, the love we share can continue reaching others long after we have gone our separate ways.
A love that continues to grow.
A love that doesn't depend upon what the world calls us.
A never-ending love, with no goodbye.
So the next time you see a dandelion growing between the rocks, think about the seed that opened beneath them.
Think about the roots that developed before the flower ever appeared.
Think about the mountains singing, the trees clapping their hands, and the life that found its way into the world.
Think about the child who picks a flower for their mother, never questioning whether it is a weed.
And think about the gifts you carry within yourself.
Because perhaps we spend too much time worrying about whether we are flowers or weeds when we should be asking what kind of fruit our lives are producing.
And when the time comes to scatter the seeds of what we have learned, may we send them with love.
Like little kisses upon the wind.
A gift from one life to another.
A reminder that even when we are apart, the love we have shared can continue growing.
A never-ending love, with no goodbye.
Know you are loved.
Crazy Flower