Just through the red door lies a mystical place where live the little known creatures, the ones the world looks upon as myth and legend.

In this realm, they live and breathe, just the same as you and I.  Journey with me, through the red door, to the place of imagination and we will find a new dimension of reality.

The bright light of day beckons, calling our names as those who live there want to meet us and share their tales!

I hear Grandpa Ansel, a respected elder, calling now, his voice strong and commanding.  

“Hark, noble ones of the realm!”

Bundled up in all his winter wear, his tiny slippered feet resting comfortably on his stool, Grandpa Ansel throws off his lap shawl.  He is freshly wakened from a long winter nap.  There’s little in the way of work and industry at this time of year and his favorite place to be is in his big chair, close to the roaring fire.  As he sits himself up he straightens his red felt hat, which is almost as old as he is.  You will never see a gnome without his hat, for he only removes it to sleep, and we will never be welcome in his sleeping closet!  With a firm tug on his sweater, the ancient one clears his throat loudly.

“Draw near, dear ones.  Gather close and hear the wisdom of age, for you have just begun and have much to learn.”

Grandpa Ansel, commands his audience which is waiting expectantly.  The winter months are long for the garden gnomes and Grandpa Ansel’s skill in story-telling helps to pass the time.  It’s an event to look forward to and everyone does, not just the young, but also the young at heart!

For the youngsters, the days of down-time seem endless, but the adults have learned to value the less industrious season.  Everyone within hearing of Grandpa’s voice settles into the living area, vying for position, near the welcome warmth of the peat fire, near to their favorite sage.

Extending his closed hand, Grandpa Ansel leans forward.  “Can you guess what is in my hand?”

“A sweet,” exclaimed Fader!

“A carving,” answered Mathilda.

“A surprise,” said Grandma Elena, with a knowing wink!

“Indeed!  I think it is a surprise” chuckled Grandpa, opening his hand to show his palm.

“There’s nothing there,” whined Fader.

“Look again.  Come very close now, Fader, and tell everyone what it is you see.”

Scrambling up and grabbing Grandpa’s wrist, Fader peered expectantly into Grandpa’s withered palm.  Fader’s nose practically touching Grandpa’s hand, his eyes searched the many crevices for the mystery.  As Fader was about to announce the hand empty, he saw it.  Only, it was still a mystery, for Fader didn’t know what he was seeing.

“It’s tiny, whatever it is.  It’s barely bigger than a speck of dust,” Fader announced!

“You’re right.  Now, go sit down and I’ll tell you about this great and mighty thing I hold in my hand,” Grandpa instructed.  Clearing his throat, his eyes drawing everyone, he began.

“I hold in my hand a seed.  It’s not much to look at, but this tiniest of seeds is in possession of a great and mighty herb.  I’ve seen it happen, time and again, in my lifetime.  The mustard seed in my hand, in this winter season, shows nothing of its potential.  As long as it remains in my hand, or in its packet, you will never see its potential, to become something quite different!

When the time and conditions are right, if I take this seed and I plant it in the garden, something amazing and mystical begins to happen.  Of a truth, I don’t understand how it happens, but I’ve seen the evidence enough to know, this tiniest of seeds, changes.  There is something about dirt that draws life forth from this tiny seed.

At first, for many days, it appears that nothing is happening, but then, out of the ground, you will see an almost microscopic green thread, so fine you almost have to put your nose to the ground, like Fader had to do, getting close to my hand.

That tender shoot, with some loving care, changes again and soon from that tiniest of feeds, grows a stronger stalk, bearing two leaves.  It seems impossible, but from this ‘speck of dust,’ comes the mightiest of all the herbs in the garden, an herb that grows big enough to support the weight of a bird!

“But how,” asked Mathilda?

“I reckon I don’t know that answer.  I do know that a seed, in good soil, grows.  There is a form of life held in waiting in every seed and it will grow and produce more of its kind given the right conditions of good dirt, water and sunshine.  It happens every time.

What I want you to understand is that everything in life can be viewed as a seed.  If you plant that seed in good dirt and tend it, it will grow.

Inside of each of you is some ‘dirt,’ ” answered Grandpa, smirking.  And I don’t mean the dirt you ate when you were too young to know better!  Your young minds and hearts are like a garden, freshly tilled and ready to receive seed.  The seeds you sew in your garden are your thoughts and ideas.  What seeds you plant are what you will grow.  If you plant good thought seeds, you will eventually harvest a whole crop of good thoughts, growing bigger and bigger.  Bad thoughts, which would be like weeds in our garden, need to be pulled out by the roots, just like we do in our herb garden.  You each get to choose your harvest by what seeds you plant.  Choose wisely.  And remember, the smallest seed, the tiniest glimmer of an idea, can grow a great and mighty thing.  Never underestimate the power of a seed planted.”