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?
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