A Love Letter to My Favorite Farmer

The couple grew up, had babies, lost one, sent another off to the Vietnam War. Their babies had babies. And now, some of those babies are having babies. They moved out of the Lee farmhouse, to make room for the next generation: your dad’s. When Gerald Ford was president, your grandparents built that ranch-style house just to the south, still staying on Lee ground. And to you, it always felt like there were two sets of parents on the farm, which probably kept you out of some trouble during your teens. ~smile~

You left the farm for the university, with no intention of coming back. And you found a woman who didn’t intend to go back either. Remember our skyscraper dreams?

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Yet there we were last night, on the deck, looking over moonlit cornfields you planted this spring, the second spring without your father. We traded our dreams in, and here we are scraping back earth instead of skies.

You raised a toast to our 14 years together, tipping your glass to mine, and you said the words: “We had no idea what we were getting into, did we?”

I smiled wide and shook my head, letting the absurdly beautiful truth of your words settle in. “No, we sure didn’t.”

And it’s been good, so good. We clinked glasses, touched ruby wine to lips.

But then you said it might not always be good, and your reality-check caught me off guard. Scared me even. You told me we will face trial and hardship. Not might, but will.

“In this world,you will have trouble …” the Bible says in the Gospel of John.

But you also reminded me, that we cling to the Overcomer, and to one another. For we are a three-braided cord. That’s how we’ll get through the not-knowing-for-sures of this life.

“God’s got it.” That’s your repeated refrain, and that’s how you’ve taught your wife about surrender — farmer style. Those words echo strong today as I think about the couple on the fence.

The photo was taken at their beginning, as romance bloomed on an Iowa farm. I think about what they didn’t know then: the wars that would come, the losses, the Farm Crisis of the 1980s. I think about how they endured their own not-knowing-for-sure.

I think about the girl especially, and how she leaned into her man, and how she would have looked out the windows of that house to pray for her favorite farmer, and how Emma did the same for her favorite farmer Ole, and how Joyce did the same for Paul.

And how I do the same for you.

They knew what it meant to feel this swelling in a heart for a Lee man who scrapes back Earth to scatter the seed.

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Last week, they put your grandparents’ house on the back of a semi-truck and hauled it down the highway. They set that house on another piece of land, somewhere near Orange City. Another family will build up lives and love in that house. And it’s good to know it will hold breath and laughter again. It’s been sad to see it sit empty these last few years since your Grandma left for the assisted-living center.

Each Wednesday, Ann Voskamp invites her community of writers to explore spiritual practices that draw us nearer to the heart of Jesus. Today, she invited us to write love letters. It’s been a long time since I’ve written one. Might you stop by Ann’s and read her love letter, too? It’s breathtaking.