My mind has been extremely skittery these days, perhaps like the fly that escaped from the closed-in window space. I could write about my 17-year-old granddaughter, who last night wowed the high school audience as the lead in “Becky’s New Car.” (How did she get to be so grown-up?) Or I could write about the peaches we were given, and the pie my husband loves; or another granddaughter’s quilt top that I finally finished this week. Or I could write about the farm, where we were again this summer. I will not give any particulars about this last because our book is full of them, probably ad nauseum.
It is indeed a vivid, so satisfying experience to be on the combine with my nephew or my brother, looking at the header slurping up the wheat, checking the level of grain in the bulk tank, watching the hilly skyline shimmering in the heat, and then seeing the wheat dump plenteously from the combine auger into the truck. And still strange and beautiful, to know this particular ground is mine and Darrel’s, given by my father, representing many years of his hard work, and his love for his children. I have done nothing to deserve it. I now understand a bit better the great gift our God has given us. At least I can explore the same feelings of having done nothing to deserve the gift, except to receive it. What if I had been stupid enough to say no, I won’t take this land as mine. I would not get any money from it, nor be a part of the family enterprise. I think it would be the same, in microcosm, as saying, “No, God, I don’t want to be your child, don’t want your love, don’t want your riches, don’t want to an heir in your kingdom. I’ll just go on without you.” It would be a terrible chance to take, wouldn’t it?