Oh how the earth of this farm longs for the boy to walk in its cool grass.
To gaze upon its meadows.
There is a silence
A stillness.
One that aches if left too long
The river cries for her boy.
Wading and exploring have ceased.
How the woods echo with the laughter of years of exploration, created towns and air soft wars.
How does a farm grieve the loss of a beloved son?
There is a hush over the barn where the boy and friends once hung from rafters, played hide and seek in the bales and searched for newborn kittens.
Gone are the wee morning hour walks with Father and son under the stars as the cows are gathered for milking
How the farmer grieves.
How he longs for those quiet mornings spent with his son.
Conversations grown to an abrubt halt.
Fencing projects left unfinished. . .a constant reminder of what has been lost.
Fencing projects left unfinished. . .a constant reminder of what has been lost.
The mountain meadow longs for the attention of that young boy.
The dreams of a log cabin and of family.
Now all ceased.
And is this not how our heavenly father waits in earnest for us to repent and to come to him?
Does he not long to hear us call out our need for him?
As the sod of this farm cries out for it’s boy;
So does our heavenly father long for all to come to him. To lay down their burdens and be filled.
John 4:19
We love because he first loved us.
