Nothing is wasted.
The field is reduced to stubble. Round bales of straw line
up like children outside a classroom, like sports fans outside a stadium, like
concert-goers outside a venue. The bales all look alike, and yet each one will
be unique in some way.
The crop – barley, I think – has been taken away to be used,
and these straw bales are the left-overs. They will be useful to the farmer
during the coming winter. Nothing is wasted.
May I, too, be a good steward of whatever I am in charge of
today. Right now, it looks like my time. May I make good use of the spare
minutes between one appointment and another, not scrolling mindlessly but
looking up in wonder and awe at the majesty of the Almighty God.
In Him, nothing is wasted.
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