Growing up in the Northwest region it was delightful for a little girl as a passenger in the back row seat with her window rolled down and wind at her face, to be mesmerized by farmers at the helm of their tractors,
preparing acres of fields for spring.
Land which stretched as far as the eye could see, I remember those heroes in overalls getting lost in my view as a flurry of blowing and kicking up dust into the afternoon glare of the sun, behind tractors tilling and plowing the fields.
From sunrise to sunset I dare not take for granted those years their backbreaking work at family farms passed down from generation to generation, with us enjoying the fruits of their labors at dinner.
Written in God’s Word is a poem titled:
A Time for Everything.
(an excerpt…)
There is a time for everything,
And a season for every activity under the heavens:
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot….
Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 NIV
Yes, farmers understand this season of seed time.
They celebrate this season of harvest.
Sowing and reaping for them is a journey of believing;
Walking blindly with God’s promises leading the way.
For we walk by faith, not by sight.
2 Corinthians 5:7 NKJV
It takes faith to believe our buried seeds will die and one day produce and yield bushels of its likeness.
…A man reaps what he sows.
Galatians 6:7 NIV
Might we glean from the farmer’s fields for our own lives.
Remembering in the poem
A Time for Everything,
When it is our time to be born, our time to live,
There would be years of seed time and harvest,
Seasons of sowing our self into another man’s field, expecting a harvest in our own field when we do, because God’s promises remind us of this.
Seasons of planting God’s hope for a better day,
For healing,
For health,
For finances,
For prodigals…
In our children’s lives…
In our grandchildren’s lives…
In our neighbors and strangers alike…
In our own lives…
And during those impatient months and years when our harvest hasn’t even peaked above ground, our faith must continue believing for answered prayer; our eyes still envision the season of fall.
That in our posture of anxiously waiting at those fields appearing to be barren…
In our endless conversations and questions with God in our wondering…
Might we find rest in His promises,
Take heart when we are reminded,
The harvest of fall is coming,
If we prepared our fields at springtime.
Our barns would overflow as God promised if we did.
