mrsmomdragon

Sharing my adventures, thoughts and occassional jokes. Sorting through laundry, and a little bit of life…This is How I Train My Dragons…

Harvest…

Fall has always been my favorite season. Actually, it’s not necessarily fall that is my favorite, but it’s the harvest time that comes with it.  Some may see it as a time when everything dies, but I like to see it as a time of waiting…and just being still.

You see, farmers spend hours and hours in the summer time plowing their fields, irrigating, and watching their crops grow.But, it doesn’t stop there. I know with corn, there is also a time of waiting…waiting for it to dry out so that it can be harvested at just the right time.

Isn’t that how seasons of our life can be sometimes?  We spend much of our life waiting…but what I think is important is how we spend our time waiting. Sometimes God has us in this season of waiting for a reason…we just need to see it, and ultimately learn from it.

My kids have been asking for the last month or so when they are going to cut the corn around our house. So, just like the farmers…we’ve been waiting for them to harvest. Well, today as we pulled in, I noticed the combine and trucks making their way through the rows of corn.

Today, the harvest of the corn brought on a whole new meaning for me. You see, today is the day that my Dad is being transported from prison to a half way house (much closer to us). His home for the past 7 years has been prison, and my entire family has been in this season of waiting during his stay.  I’ll be the first to admit, these 7 years have been hard.  We have had good days and bad days. I have had days where our life seems so normal, and then days where I just want to scream because it was never supposed to be like this. They’ve been difficult, but our lives continued because we refused to let this event break us. Through this, I have learned so much about myself, including how strong I really am.  And, I know in my heart that I’m not the only one that has done some serious learning and reflecting through this either…

By no means am I saying this season of our life is over. I don’t know what the day to day will look like from here on out. But, I do know that God is good, and I trust in His plan.

During fall, plants “die”, leaves fall off and everything looks so bleak…but that’s far from the truth. Underneath the cold soil, there are roots. These roots are holding firmly onto the soil, just as I have held onto the promise that God made me 7 years ago.

In our lives, if we just hold on and make it through the cold, harsh nights, we will eventually get to see the flowers bloom, leaves sprout and everything become colorful again…someday….

Today, I am seeing a glimpse of the colors yet to come. And, just like corn being harvested at just the right time…God’s promises also come to pass at just the right time.

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Hands

You can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands.

Sometimes you can tell what they do for a living, what they spend time doing, or even what mistakes they might have made along the way.

I remember when Emaleigh was in kindergarten and she learned how to do the monkey bars, she had blisters all over the palms of her hands. It was almost like a kindergarten rite of passage to get these blisters. As she got older and quit doing the monkey bars as often, her blisters went away.

When I was younger, my Dad had this special orange soap (literally it smelled like oranges) that was supposed to be tough on grease. Every night before dinner, he would wash his hands with that soap and no matter how hard he scrubbed, his hands still looked dirty. You see, my dad was (is) one of the hardest working people that I know. He worked sun up to well over sun down on and around the farm. Years of dirt, grease, oil, joy, and pain filled under each fingernail and within every crease of his rough, cracked, hands…making it almost impossible for them to be fully clean.

I’ll never forget when I saw my Dad for the first time about 4 years ago. I didn’t notice the green uniform that made him instantly identifiable as an inmate, nor did I notice standard issue boots that every other male in the gray chairs were wearing. As crazy as it sounds, it wasn’t completely shocking to me to see my dad as a prison inmate (bear with me).

What caught me most off guard was looking down at my Dad’s hands. They were no longer the hands I remember so fondly during my childhood. The rugged hands that grease the tractors, the hands callused from shoveling for hours, or the stained hands that would clench the spoon over his late night bowl of cereal; these were not the same hands. The hands that I was looking at were stark white and there was nothing that said, “now there’s a hard worker”. These hands that reached across the table for mine were soft and unrecognizable.

Yesterday, we were able to go see my Dad again. Again, I saw his hands. No matter how many times I am faced with the hands, I will never get used to them. No matter how many times we make the trip to see him, it will never get any easier when it’s time to leave.

As we were driving home I couldn’t quit thinking about his hands. Then I realized, no matter how many times we try to wash our hands they will always be dirty. We try and try on our own to wash them clean. Sometimes, we get them as clean as we are able to and call it good not even realizing that we are doing it all wrong.  But, it’s not until we give Jesus our hands for Him to clean,  that all of the junk is washed off of them. We can’t do it by ourselves.

Nothing can take away the hard work that my Dad did with his hands…the lines of a great life and hard work are still there. I do miss seeing his old, rough hands but I am thankful to be able to reach across and grab his hands that are clean.

As hard as it is to admit and as hard as it is to see him there, my Dad is where he needs to be. I say this because it is the place where he was at his lowest but it was also the place where Jesus was able to get, and keep, his attention.

It is in that very place, in that cell,  where Jesus washed his hands (and continually washes them) with him.

 

 

 

 

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Sharing my adventures, thoughts and occassional jokes. Sorting through laundry, and a little bit of life...This is How I Train My Dragons...