A year later we still are haying. The fire on to take the chill off the morning air. The desire of my heart to yield to the heavenly father. The pain still real, the missing still great. Longing to find our way in this world. Wanting to make a difference. Wanting hope to permeate all we do. Thoughts scratched out in the wee hours of the morning. Still ring true a year later. Yet, this is before cancer knocked on our door. It is before I knew what was to be. . .
It’s Early Morning
It’s Early Morning
I rise while it is still dark.
Coffee is made.
We are having pancakes for breakfast.
I have turned the fire on to take off the chill.
Though it is much warmer than the previous nights.
It was hard to get up this morning.
I prayed for a long time, seeking strength for what lies before me today.
I prayed for Gary.
These hours are so long.
I prayed for the yield on this hay crop to be wildly abundant.
We are so short on feed.
This picture was taken the last day Elijah and I worked together.
The day he told his dad, “Hey dad, you know the best way to slow down wrapping bales? Is to have your wife come to the barn.”
I was trying to help.
I can be a liability sometimes.
But I am glad I went.
All that time spent with my boy. . .
Little did I know there would only be 2 more days that he would reside on this earth.
I had planned to write a blog post on how we put up our round bales.
Now these pictures are all I have left of his final days here.
But the memories.
Oh how I treasure that day.
I was so slow.
We’d been having trouble with the round bale plastic – it keeps tearing. . .
So, Elijah would have to get off the tractor and come and pull it so I could tuck it back in and get started.
I am a little short, so getting a good grip to pull that plastic was not happening on my watch. ..
unless I went and got a stool. Which is the story of my life.
Someone needs to add variety to these boys’ lives.
After each bale is wrapped, it is marked with the date.
It was beautiful out that day.
I was happy to be with my boys and I would take the time to write on the bales. ..
more than just the date.
This also slowed the process down.
Guys don’t think like we woman.
I wanted there to be a legacy on those bales.
So when the deep of winter came and they pulled those bales out there would be a reminder of the glorious day in July when we all worked together.
On each bale I left a legacy.
One we now treasure with all our hearts.
Our hay situation has been a challenge this year.
The rains came in abundance and flooded many of our fields.
This left debris and silt scattered across acres of land, virtually making all the hay unusable; when or if we could get on to the soggy meadows.
This happened repeatedly throughout the summer.
So on July 25, 2013,
When the warmth of the sun permeated everything,
I wrote those praises on bales.
I prayed over each bale.
Asking our father to somehow fix this feed situation.
To give us wisdom if we should stay in farming.
3 days later I still praised the same God
with a broken heart as he called my boy home.
It was a beautiful night last night.
I don’t know what our future is here.
I don’t know where the Lord is leading us.
So much has changed.
Yet, we will still praise him.