|"We need the Farmer to come and pull up some weeds. To remove the mess left behind and create from what seems like yesterday, what He desires in us for tomorrow."|
THE FIELD HAD BEEN HARVESTED, the fruit picked and carted away in heaps. The plants discarded were, for the most part, removed from the soil and disposed of. Yet, here and there amidst the tracks of vehicles and the footprints of workers, lay bits and pieces fallen aside.
There is great rejoicing in the harvest, in the thought of dollars gained, and fruit production percentages. In the evidences of the glory of it come pies and desserts of all types, or pottages of vegetables on tables round about. But behind the glamor and what is produced, is a field, tattered and torn, strewn. It will be resown in time. It will grow again and look plentiful beneath the harvest sun. It will draw birds. Insects.
But between the harvest and the next season is the work of cleanup. Of churning of soil, of removing of weeds. For between the harvest and the next seed, the soil shows its pains, and it takes the Farmer’s time to make it ready again.
So is our hearts. There is a time of growth, a time of reaping, and we rejoice in those. There is a time of sowing and feeding, leading to harvest. But there is a time of rest. And a time of cleaning. Where what we were precedes what we will be. We look toward the future but have these tendrils of the past. Is the soil spoilt for us? By no means. But in that time, we need the Farmer to come and pull up some weeds. To remove the mess left behind and create from what seems like yesterday, what He desires in us for tomorrow.
Thoughts float upward at times, memories of what we’ve survived. But in that we survived, in the Farmer’s hands, we show possibility for more greatness. We are not stuck with the empty field, and the tractor treads, and fallen, half-rotten fruit. We are not left with fowls which pick across us, looking for old seeds. But He intends to take what seems completed and to begin again.
We are the soil. He is the Farmer. He plants the seeds. He tills the soil. The increase, the growing, the resting is His.
“Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped.” (Psalms 124:7)
“When the LORD turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream.” (Psalms 126:1)
Suzanne D. Williams, Author