As I watch the season coming to a close, all of the evidence is there. The days become pale, trees sway in the wind grasping to its last leaf, gardens get thin and tired. Even the air smells different and the sunshine gets weary.
Winter is coming, the season's almost over.
In each of my seasons I see blunders, conquering feats, blessed quiet, and some increase. Every garden gets a little growth, you would think. Even with the best of intentions and love, sometimes that garden just will not thrive. I thought I could farm this wee bit of land that was given to me. I tried to raise the most beautiful garden the best I knew how, I prayed for guidance, I hoped for the right amount of rain. To my utter bewilderment, my wee farm will not thrive.
Then, it's time to get my hands into the soil again. Winter is coming, the season is almost over.
One day my wee bit of land was taken away. The more I tried to till and fertilize, the worse it got. I thought I was a failure. I believed that all the love I ever had just would not thrive in my wee farm, or anywhere else. I cried at the disbelief of it all. And one day I realized it was never mine, I was only borrowing it until mine was ready.
Inconsolable. Still prideful. But winter is coming, the season is almost over.
I miss that bit of land. I loved it more than it loved me. I tried hard, I really did. But one day, when I would have never expected it, I was given another wee farm to till. It was different than the first, it seemed much harder to work and love. I barely liked it. So I asked the Giver of the land, "Why me? What can I do? This land is hard and barren." All the Giver told me to do is to keep tilling, keep planting, and there will be increase.
Even so, winter is coming, the season is almost over. And the harvest will be soon.
As hard as this soil is, I continue to till and furrow the rows, to plant the seed, and wait for rain. I'm thankful the Giver of this land loves me so much that He trusts me with this wee bit of a farm. It is mine for a time, the seasons are almost over, and the harvest is very soon.
Don't lose heart, do not be grieved. Till your land, make your furrows, plant the seed. And the harvest will be great.