Sweat drips off his brow and soaks into the ball cap on his head. Sun beats down onto his strong arms. He hoists the earth up and over, loosening, preparing, reaping, sowing. He’s feeding his family. A diet of fresh vegetables, the Word, heart-felt prayers, songs of praise, leadership, governance by God.
He sets the hoe down to help explain the story of the caterpilar-turned-moth-turned enemy of the cabbage to the children once again. They run laughing through the rows, chasing the white-winged creatures. He stretches and smiles then turns back to his tasks. There is a rhythm in the garden he has learned to love. Where the seeds he plants always grow what they should. There is satisfaction. Cleanness. Calm. Order. Respite. Provision.
In the cool of the evening, he hunts the caterpillars. Runs calloused hands through the leafy greens. Sits beside me on the swing and talks of his dreams and hopes. Shares what God is speaking to his heart. Those seeds are bearing fruit, too. Time will tell how great the harvest of his willing heart. We watch the fruit of our union running through the dampening grass, chasing lightning bugs and each other. Their laughter is infectious and chases away the weariness.
In the early hours, he will walk softly between his carefully planted rows, looking for weeds, watering, watching, praying. He is patient. He is diligent. He walks in God’s garden, listening. Straining to hear, to obey, to grow. He is willing….
Work is a gift. An opportunity. Afforded by the Lord.