One beautiful thing about the seasons is their constant flow through my life, from beginning to end, over and over again. When I surrender to the inevitable process, I can gratefully observe the miracle, gather the gifts, and endure the discomforts. As they come, as they go.
I am a descendant of farmers. I saw my grandfather plow under the remains of summer, preparing for fall. I played hide and seek in his winter rye and watched him plow it under to prepare for spring. I understand cultivation.
Perhaps it is no coincidence the word “harrowing” means both “plowing” and “a disturbing experience.” When God plows His way through my life, it can be agonizing, but I have seen, over and over again, it lead to a blessing, fruit that only God could produce.
I taste that fruit. I pause and give thanks for God’s cultivation. The yield is sweet and quenching and it is always exactly what I need, when I need it. I am nourished and satiated and prepared. There will be more plowing and planting, more weeds to harrow and remnants to remove. I may groan and weep but I am certain of the seedlings and buds that come in the spring.
Does the farmer plow continually to plant seed? Does he continually turn and harrow the ground? Isaiah 28:24
Meeting God at the Park 