I could see the worry lines around his eyes. Invisible, yet so visible, the weight of discouragement and decisions upon his shoulders. The silhouette of a farmer against a backdrop of swirling, blowing dustclouds. The howling wind full of dirt, rising and lifting. Our own dirty thirties. Pieces of Oklahoma and Colorado and western Kansas screaming through the air.
We thought we knew what dry years were. But now, dryer.
We check the forecast and we hope for the rainclouds to come and for the chances of rain to truly turn into rain.
Winter wheat. Kansas wheat. Wheat I love. Tough and resilient.
Yet no matter how hardy, it must have moisture.
We think of the June when it rained and rained and rained some more. Beautiful, easy rains. And our combines sat quiet and still and our crop of ripe and ready wheat lay heavy on the ground, unharvested.
We think of Octobers when it wouldn’t quit raining and we had fields waiting, waiting to be drilled with this Kansas winter wheat.
We think of spring planting, corn and beans and milo. Time to plant, yet needing moisture to make a soft and fertile seedbed.
We need rain.
We scan the skies.
We can only wait.
And pray. And grow our faith and trust a bit more and a bit more.
And simply make the best decisions possible.
I want to erase the lines. I want to still the wind. Oh, how I want to still that wind. But the best I can do is offer a tall glass of iced tea and whisper a prayer.
Because we know the One who calms the wind and walks on water. We know the One who sees the sparrow. We know the One who makes the clouds His chariots. We know the One whose voice is as the sound of many waters. We know the One who has promised that as long as the earth remains, seedtime and harvest will endure. We know the One who performs miracles and spoke the stars into being. We know the One who comes in the gentle and quiet whisper.
He knows we need rain. He hasn’t missed it. He hasn’t fallen asleep or become too busy to take notice or care. His ways are higher. And His ways are better.
And while worry lines will creep in, we know where to lay our weariness and we can rest because Father does not become faint or grow tired.