The pussy willow, violets and bloodroot have bloomed. Now the cranesbill geranium, spring beauty and money plant are having their turn. Trillium will come next. Spring flowers carpet the floor of the woods and the banks of the creeks at the farm. The crab apple trees that ring our house are in full bloom, sweet fragrance rising up to meet me as I work in the yard. I can hear the turkeys gobbling softly to each other in the woods, talking over the day. One turkey has separated from the flock and is walking the pastures alone. Deer pause in their grazing to watch us pass, not worried about their safety here at Sabbath Rest. The black snake family has come back to the shed now that it is warm and are living in one of the bins. The spring trio of new calves pause in their play to watch us as we walk by. The quail are back, flying up at a steep angle when flushed from the tall grass. Their Bob White song floats on the air again and makes me smile. Our poor ruined pond, now a muddy bog, still has spring peeper frogs that sing. The big turtle and the fish are long gone. The ducks and the crane no longer visit us. A careless developer sent a wall of red mud careening down a pristine stream and filled a twelve foot deep pond. Poorly enforced laws could not protect us or the animals that called that pond home.
Much of life on the farm is beautiful, lush, abundant, fruitful but Sabbath Rest Farm is not Eden. Thistles grow in the pasture grass. Animals kill one another. We find the leftovers of animal meals in our walks... feathers, bone, fur. Gullies wash and cut through the hillside as rain runs to the streams. The drought... This spring has been dry and we are already behind the normal amount of rainfall. Our vehicles raise a rooster tail of dust as we drive up our gravel road. The ground is hard, packed and dry. The Florida developer still is planning to put 168 units on the fifty acres next door. Careless construction is still allowed. The contrast between life as I think it should be and life as it really is can be startling and overwhelming at times.
And yet, my heart leaps up still at the sight of a fawn or the sound of Junie B’s nickering welcome. I hold my breath in suspended animation while I watch the big redorangepurplegold sunset and the silvercream moonrise. The Carolina Wren building a nest in my grapevine wreath for the third year in a row is busy and cheerful. Her good cheer spills over into my soul. I am grateful.
The thirty eighth and thirty ninth chapters of Job, God’s questions to Job, are a beautiful lyrical description of our world. The springs of the sea... the dwellings of light... the storehouses of the snow... the chains of the Pleiades... wisdom in the clouds... the waterskins of the heavens... the Behemoth and the Leviathan... the horse and the hawk... the ostrich and the eagle... It is our world for the span of our lives but it has been God’s world since the beginning of time. Like the Psalmist, I will rejoice and be glad in it. I will smell the crab apple blossom incense and my soul will rise up to meet my Creator. I will eat the tender asparagus shoots and give thanks for the abundance of the earth. I will sing praises with the turkeys and the quail. I will sit down in silence with the grazing deer and listen for the Lord to speak. It will be more than enough. Thanks be to God for this most amazing gift.
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While reading "It ain't Paradise...but it's close. I could feel as if it was me taking in the sweet fragrance of the crab apples. The gobbling sounds of the turkeys and the whistling sounds of the quails. Not only could I feel but I could see myself full of serenity taking in the beauty of God's creation. As I hear the wonderous sound of water streaming down the creek, I give Thanks to God for my hearing. My dream, my hope is to oneday be able to get out of this city life and reside on a country hillside, on a farm anywhere far from here. There are mornings when I sit and watch the birds from my window as they search for food and as they play with each other. Their chirps are like music to my ears. I think of the scripture: Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?
Some like us begin to fight. Yet, because of the love they unite again. Then this scripture comes to mind: "Now about brotherly love we do not need to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love each other." At times the frustration of this temporary home sets in, but then I remember his promises...God's promises. He will give me the desire of my heart. How I long for that day to come in which I will be able to say I am singing Praises with the birds of the air. Even the stones will cry out. Through the hustle and bustle of this city life, I Thank God that I am able to hear his voice. Through the traffic nightmares that flow through these city streets, I can say his presence is with me to calm me down. I may not be where I want to be but I'm not where I used to be. I can still lift him up and Worship him for who he is....My God, My Eternal Hope, My Salvation, My breath of fresh air.
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