Fields are White

 

I glanced at the thermometer outside the kitchen window. Hovering in the 40s (less than 10C) – in July. Sigh. I looked out the prayer window and the field beyond seemed white – with snow, or unto harvest? Whew, not snow: yet pretty short to be ready for harvest. After over forty years surrounded by this field, I still don’t recognise the crop. Some kind of grain. I hope it flourishes for the sake of the farmer.

Last night I wept over Ukraine and Gaza, and all the other places of agony. I’d seen the pictures of the children’s hospital; I’d heard some of the news. My tears eventually segued into prayers of quiet praise, celebrating Jesus’ victory over evil at the cross.

This morning, I read the verses at the end of the Old Testament: But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture.’ Lord, I pray that you will bring this to pass in all places of war and anguish and loss.

Jesus said the fields are white unto harvest – but the workers are few. Perhaps my ‘field’ looks underdeveloped; perhaps I think it is not yet ready to be harvested. But if not now, when?

May I serve the Lord today. May my words be the Lord’s words, my actions be his. May the field of family and friends around me flourish under the warm sun of the Saviour, as I love with his love, and serve with his humility and grace.