This farmer of mine.
He texts the college girl on her way home.
She’s on a bus headed our way.
“He’ll tie a yellow ribbon round the Old Oak Tree.”
She needs to look up the lyrics.
You tube will show her what her parents have neglected.
We pull into the driveway.
I wonder at it.
Had I missed these before I left.
She gradually unfolds the story.
I marvel at the gesture.
Yellow ribbons and a song to welcome his daughter home.
His quiet ways.
His gentle and thoughtful manner.
And I marvel at this man.
A man I have been married to for 22 years;
still surprises me in so many ways.
His life has held so much.
Somehow he has remained solid as a rock through these winding threads.
Even when the joy thief crashed through.
There was hope.
His faith unrelenting.
Rising before the sun to milk;
keeping his phone set to reading through the Ancient Word.
Prayer lists on the wall.
Ever before him.
A reminder; slow and steady.
Life is not a race.
I bristle at his pace.
My harsh, abrupt ways; clashing.
The world always beckoning me.
Fit more in.
We’re going to be late.
While he waits in the background.
Quiet and steady.
The rhythm of the chores a cadence for life.
Lessons to be learned.
The way of the farmer.
Rising and falling with the milk prices.
Present in each moment.
He models the Father with each step he takes.
A pace lost to most these days.
He stops to tie ribbons for his daughter.
His words are few.
His actions resounding.
Echoing for generations to come.