A farmer from up the road tapped his knuckles on our back door several years ago. I opened the door and found him standing on the doormat, with his fists shoved into a thick quilted jacket with a corduroy collar. He showed up at our house on a really hard day, during a really hard year.
The farmer’s eyes looked softer than I’d remembered before.
“Scott home yet?” he asked.
“No,” I told him. “Still doing chores.”
“Well,” the farmer continued. “You just tell him that I stopped by because I want him to know something for certain. I want him to know that the harvest always comes. You’ll let him know?”
I nodded my head, grateful for the encouragement of in experienced farmer’s words, but not sure I really believed him.
Life had dealt us some harsh blows that year. My father-in-law, Paul, had passed away, and my husband was trying to figure out how to run this farm on his own. We had felt the mercy of God that spring, when the crops grew tall, thickening over the rows so everything green was touching. There was something so beautiful and hopeful about that. It felt like everything was going to be okay, even though Paul’s old John Deere cap drooped, sad, on a nail by the back door.
Still, we had hope.
But then came October. We awoke one morning to find that a thick, white blanket of snow had covered all the crops. Not a single plant had been harvested, and the snow stole the hopefulness we felt earlier that year. It felt like a punch in the gut.
But then, that farmer showed up on our doorstep to tell us it was going to be okay. He came to let us know that it was still safe to hope. He came to remind us what the Good Book says about hope in hard times. “… at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9)
Friend, I don’t know what harvest you’re waiting for. I don’t know what storm has stolen your hope. Maybe you’re reading these words when you’re on your last dime, at the end of your frayed rope, or on the ragged brink of your sanity. God sees you. He sees how you’ve been pouring into the people you love, and what you’ve been pouring into your everyday work. And He wants you to know that your dedication is not in vain. “… at the proper time we will reap a harvest.”
And today, I’m the friend at your back door, tapping my knuckles to see if you’re home. I’m standing here, on the doormat, to tell you the same thing the old farmer told me: “The harvest comes.”
And I’m here to tell you that the farmer was right. Weeks after he stood on our stoop, the harvest did come.
Don’t give up, friend. God is still in this.
Today’s the day to believe it: At the proper time, you will reap a harvest, just as He promised.