Trevor's house

 Trevor wiped the sweat from his brow as he knelt in the rich, dark soil of his large backyard garden. The sun hung heavy in the sky, but he didn’t mind as every seed he planted held a promise. A promise that his grandchildren would never go hungry, no matter how little money he had.

When his son and daughter left their children with him and his wife, they didn’t leave much else. No support. No explanation. Just three wide-eyed little ones who didn’t understand why their parents were gone. Trevor’s pension was thin, and bills piled up like storm clouds. But he refused to let despair take root.

"We always have enough," he declared each morning, pressing his hands into the earth. He spoke to the seeds like old friends. "Grow strong and feed us. Be abundant." His wife, Marva, teased him for talking to plants, but she couldn’t argue with the results.

The tomatoes swelled red and heavy. The cornstalks stood tall, their golden ears plentiful. The squash vines sprawled across the ground, offering up more than they could eat. Neighbors whispered in amazement, how did Trevor’s garden flourish when others struggled in the red soil?

One evening, as the family gathered around a table laden with roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and jars of preserved fruit, his youngest granddaughter asked, "Papa, how come we always have food when you say money tight?"

Trevor smiled, passing her a buttered roll. "Because words are seeds, child. What you plant in the ground grows, and what you plant in the world with your voice grows the same way. I tell the earth to provide, and I believed it would. So, it did. I don’t question what is"

Years later, long after the children had grown, the garden remained a living testament to a simple truth: Communication is more than words. It’s the unshakable belief that what you declare with conviction will find a way to become real.

And in Trevor’s house, there was always enough.