Growing
and harvest has always been a spiritual event in my heart as the abundance of
fruit and grain is yearly realized from the earth, rain, and sun. I once rode in the Midwest for nine hours
without ever getting out of the corn and have seen mountains of corn piled
beside railways when all the storage bins were filled. These are holy mountains, sacred land, altars
to The Only God of Grace and His kind abundant love toward humanity. As a small child, I use to grind corn kernels
from the cob with a hand-cranked sheller bolted to a table in the Bristow barn to
feed the young calves and yesterday I did the same thing with an exponentially
greater tool, a combine and the same God showed up to awaken me to His Great
Glory. It is harvest time in West
Tennessee and God’s Holy Mountain, though spread horizontally here, is
nonetheless Holy—Holy, Holy, Is the Lord God Almighty.
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| Thanks to Jason, the rodeo cowboy, for letting me ride along on his new mount, Case IH Combine. |
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