Dirt Road through Ripe Barley Field in the Light of setting Sun

Fall has come. The sun, it shines upon us there, walking along our country road. For months we’d walked, The Mister and I, watching the fields. First had been the planting, future’s promise in seed, marching ‘cross the fields in rows. Then there’d been sprouts, and, later, fullest stalks.

“Look how tall it is!” I’d said in wonder, noting the unusual height of the corn (thinking, you see, of last summer’s drought). The beans, too, had flourished, laying row upon row of vibrant green, blanket like, o’er the ground.

On today’s walk, though, clouds of dust billow in the combine’s wake, drifting over trees, tops of houses and the road. Looking to my left, I note that the field’s no longer green. It’s been shorn, and dry, prickly stalks, they poke up from the ground.

It’s harvest time. That’s what I’m thinking as we stride past bare fields, one step, then another on a warm October day. Harvest. Which began with the seed, covered over with dirt, buried in darkness. And then rain.

Harvest. My heart’s quickening to this old Kingdom truth. First, the seed, falling to ground. Then darkness, and death, and all–well, it seems lost. Death first for the seed that’s been planted in dirt.

I’m looking at those rows, flattened ‘neath blades made of steel. Thinking harvest and death bringing life and then fruit. And I know it’s all true. That a kernel of wheat, falling, then dying, will produce the “much fruit.” That the life follows death, and the harvest, it’s sure.

I breathe country air and eat Kingdom food while I’m walking that road. For into seed’s darkness comes sunshine, comes rain. Then stalks poking up; green, green leaves; and the fruit.

Oh, it’s worth it to die to self and to sin. For after such death comes the Rain and the Son. Unbidden, next, fullest life, and that more abundant. All of that and then this—a harvest surpassing.

“Do not grow weary in doing good, for in due season, you shall reap if you faint not.” Press in, my friend, for a harvest awaits. Don’t quit. Press in, and then fruit. Future’s promise you are, there in seed.

[Tweet “A beautiful perspective on the harvest and life’s seasons. @SuzanneWFisher @RhondaSchrock”]

P.S. The winner of last week’s Friday fun is Elaine Beckham. Elaine, please email your mailing address to info@suzannewoodsfisher.com to claim your prize.

*Image c/o stock.xchng

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