My favorite farmer steps in through the back door, weaves past hills of dirty jeans and groceries still in bags. He says nothing of the paper-strewn countertops or the breakfast dishes still standing sentry at the sink, where water’s turned cold.
He disappears into the office, and then back out again. He finds me, still bent over in the hallway where I’m picking up scraps of construction paper and yarn left by little artists who make the whole world their studio.
He winks, and woos me with this: “I left something for you at your computer.”
I stand up, tuck stray hairs behind ears, and ask: “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Just walks straight out the back door and leaves me to discover.
I come ’round the corner, to find a scrap of glossy paper torn from a farm magazine, laying on my computer keys.
I cup my hand to my mouth, laugh at the thought of it, and you’d think I just struck gold.
My favorite farmer knows what Y means to me. Knows how I see Ys everywhere these days. Yahweh marks our world with His initial. Now, some people might call me crazy, but I think He marked me that way, too. The farmer tells me later that, for all he knows, those bins were Photoshopped into a Y configuration.
He knew I’d like it anyway.
I lay the scrap of paper over top of the stacks of paperwork to my left. For when Yahweh is first, everything else is in its proper order.
LORD, Before I do anything else this day,
let me wonder at the wonder of You,
Photo of T-shirt: I found this shirt at LifeLight music festival over Labor Day weekend. Perfect!