Out of habit, I pull four plates from the kitchen cupboard and then I remember, I only need three. I put one plate back, then set places for two girls and one mama.
Our favorite farmer is far away. The man who zips open seed bags, and drops tiny pearls into fields, who feeds the pigs, and feeds this family, who carries the girls to bed on his back, and then finds his place between me and the alarm clock every night. Today, he is pounding nails into a roof in Ti-Riviere, Haiti. “Are you sure you know how to set this thing by yourself?” he pointed to the alarm clock, smirking before he left.
I see his old blue pickup every morning, out the window, waiting in the quiet beside these shorn fields.
At the dinner table, the girls and I, we bow our heads. “Thank you for making my Daddy brave,” Lydia prays.
At the end of the table sits one soundless chair. And above it, hangs the framed collage of photos that includes his catch-phrase, words of farmer-faith: “God’s Got It.”
I’ve been repeating those words, making them a habit: “God’s got it. God’s got it. Yeah, He’s got it.”
No phone calls. No email. No texting. Too remote. That’s what they told us before he left. He gave me a six-word reassurance before he kissed me goodbye: “Remember, no news is good news.” And this trip is about the Good News. That’s the motivation, the message, the ministry, the mission.
I don’t know exactly what he’s doing right now, though the calendar taped by my pantry wall gives me some direction as I pray. I wonder who he’s touched, whose wide eyes he’s looked into. I wonder how his heart is tugged in a hundred different ways. I pray for his work today; I pray that the nails hold. And the nails always hold.
Yea, God’s got it. Got him.
I put three plates in the dishwasher, and pray the promise of that sweet trio of words, to let it become not only my words, but my life habit: “God’s got it.”
“… I realize there is never going to be a day when I stand before God and He looks at me and says, ‘I wish you would have kept more for yourself.’ I’m confident that God will take care of me.”
— David Platt, Radical
Joining The Gypsy Mama today for her Five-Minute Friday fun. We are asked to write for five minutes flat, no rewriting, backtracking, etc. She gives us a simple word prompt each week, and we write. This week’s prompt: GROW.
We’re growing and stretching this week as our favorite farmer spends his week in Haiti. And yes, this took me longer than five minutes to write as I process a variety of different emotions while our favorite farmer is away. Thank you for your prayers. We didn’t expect any reports, but we have received some word that the men have arrived. The words “blessed” and “overwhelmed” were used repeatedly. 🙂