Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.
Hayfield came down the other day. At least part of it. We split the harvest with the farmer up the road who has his cows. He’s got the equipment. We’ve got the grass. His cows and our horses need fed during the long stretch of frozen Wisconsin fields.
“Can’t cut it all today. Gonna rain. Can only cut what I can bale by tomorrow. Got the west field done. It’ll dry fast. But your south field? Man, you’ve got a good lookin’ alfalfa crop this year! That’ll take longer to dry once I cut, so I’m gonna leave most of it up till after the rain.”
Yes. The alfalfa and timothy hayfield is booming and blooming with stems up to my thighs. My husband and I walked through it yesterday, short-cutting our way from the pond back to the house. Yellow lab and little Yorkie looked like they were on pogo sticks, springing up out of the grass, trying to find their way through.
This morning, I took my camera for my daily outdoor worship service. Just me, my camera and God. And I said . . .
Thank you Jesus for sticking with me through thick and thin. Thank you for knowing exactly when and where to cut, all for my good and your glory. Thank you for knowing just how much dry I need. Thank you for tossing and turning me, making me ready to feed others. Thank you—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—for tending to me patiently. And thank you that all I need do is yield to you, give you my heart each day. Only you see the whole of me, from beginning to end. I kneel in this field at the awesome wonder of YOU this morning, opening my empty hands and raising them up. Here I am, Lord—grown, bloomed, cut, fallen, tossed, turned, dried. Thank you for never leaving me to rot and waste, for picking me up with your ever-loving hands, always in perfect time. What more can I say, Lord?
Just . . .