On the farm radio, I hear them talking just now — about how some of the farmers’ combines are freezing up and how they’ll need to put the additive in the fuel. They race against clouds, and snow, and single-digit temperatures.
“We’re gonna fill up that bin today,” my favorite farmer says to my father, and I hear the confidence (“God-fidence”) echoing in voices.
Even now — on this cold December morning — combines will roll over the curve of Earth.
I call out on the radio: Can I take a ride to witness the miracle unfold?
And I drive over bumpy Earth, and jump down from the pickup. I lean in hard to the wind, to find a grinning farmer opening wide the door to a warm cab. I climb up to take a seat beside him, and he drops the green combine head between rows.
These golden stalks — wildly dancing with the wind — fall to the Promise of the harvest.
Acres of unharvested fields stand today. But tomorrow?
“I think we’ll be done,” says the man who planted hope in these fields.
these wagons and
a six-row combine and
a weary farmer
For the harvest has come. Just like He said it would.
God’s got it. He’s had it since Day One.