Linger

 

Working as a team, the farmers sucked up the mown grass within a couple of hours. Where the fields were Kelly green a couple of days ago, today the stubble is pale yellow under the heavy cloud cover. This morning I watched as the gate was opened from the lower field and the small herd of cows rushed into the field. They must have been tortured by the tantalising smell of grass over the past days, and thought they were in for a feast.

Alas. They rushed onto the stubble, jostling and pushing forward, racing past the fringe of long grass left ringing the electricity poles, anxious to stay with each other. In their quest, they missed some tasty tidbits.

How often do I rush forward with the crowd, eager not to be left behind, anxious to find something satisfying to ruminate on, and in my myopic rush I miss the feast my Father has prepared for me? Today may I lag behind the crowd, may I linger and listen for that still small voice whispering wisdom and love to me.