Mom, we’re going to go catch horses, she exclaimed. The four wheeler turned over and began its approach.
Mom, we’re going on a boat ride to catch fish, you wanna come?, he asked eagerly. I gave them the thumbs up and smiled from across the field.
The sun was bearing down already at 10 am and the air barely moved. I don’t know where they get their tolerance for the heat. I suppose it’s because they’ve only known summers at the farm, and the excitement of all there is to explore outside beats the cool air inside four walls.
I retreat as they prepare to ride. The house is silent save for the dryer’s rotation and a nearby bird.
I’d heard bad news Thursday night, and even two mornings later I felt a bit like I’d been run over by a truck.
An albino butterfly fluttered past the window and the AC unit kicked on.
The grass in the fields was higher than I’d ever seen. We’d normally have baled two times by this time of the season, my mother in law reported. The rain, it’s just been so wet.
They hoped to bale this week while they stayed on after I returned home to work. A breeze swept in for a moment and the grasses waved hello from the corner I could glimpse through the window.
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? (Matthew 6)
My shoulders relaxed and I reread Matthew 6.
I whispered a prayer for my dear one suffering hundreds of miles from me.
The door clattered. Footsteps. Little ones with urgent requests. The boat ride was imminent so I’d best get my shoes on.
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