As the seasons change...

Life is like a wheat crop, I think. It starts out poking through the well-worked earth, tender and green, looking out timidly at the big world, wondering what its destiny could be. It doesn't waver, though. It slowly, steadily grows, nourished by the sun and rain, until it is buried by the winter snow. Through the barren winter, the only real beauty in the brown Kansas world is the green wheat, like a child who brings sunshine into the world through their simple faith and innocent spirit.



When spring comes, the wheat suddenly grows into a thick, lush carpet of green that waves in the wind. It faces one of the hardest times of its short life...the dangers of hailstorms, the violent March winds, lashing, pounding rain at any unexpected time, or the threat of May tornadoes to tear its fields up or scatter sheets of metal or wrecked irrigation systems or the floor boards of a house over it. A beautiful crop could be wrecked in a moment, or, through steady growing in spite of the wild weather, could stay lush and thick and fruitful for the harvest. Just like it is a teenager's life, fragile and full of unexpected twists and turns, and many storms to weather.


Finally, the wheat has ripened. It's life is full. Now is when the sun shines down, hot and bright, shimmering on the golden rippling fields. It seems done growing, yet it never is. Those heads full of kernels slowly continue to harden. Each night they soften, then harden in the sun again in the morning. It seems to be resting at last, and yet, waiting for something. An adult's life seems full, golden, mature. Yet it is never truly done. What a beautiful thing is the life of a person who, although they have faced storms and wild weather, is going on quietly and steadily, trusting and waiting.



And then the wheat is cut. Gently severed from its stalks, it is worked through the machine and processed to the point where its grain is ready to travel to the buyer. Somehow, I can never imagine wheat complaining, even if it is being removed from its lifelong home. As I ride the combine, the wheat seems to be shouting, "Hurrah! I'm being cut at last! I'm ready to go - to die." I don't think you have to be an elderly adult to come to this point in life, I think it's more that you just have to come to a surrendering point at any age, but there is no more beautiful thing than the life that is ready to be harvested - ready to die for its master. What I guess I mean is, "To live is Christ, to die is gain."



I want my life to be like the wheat that ripples in the wind. A field of wheat at any stage of its life makes this Kansas girl's heart smile and her throat hurt, but watching that wheat, gently being swept into the combine, accomplishing its final and ultimate purpose, is a beautiful thing. Through all the storms and seasons in life, I want to keep growing and changing and trusting. And I long to be content in the Lord's will - so in love with Him that I can truly say, "For ME to live is Christ, to die is gain."

(First photo by Tim Skiles)