Not the Farmer

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I caught myself taking back the things I had given to God to take care of for me, and then I remembered the Farmer. A few days ago, I wrote about how a sweet farmer washing new eggs in the back of a farm store came to represent God for me, how this kind, gentle man took my messy paperwork and got it where it needed to be. How he was like God, really, working unhurriedly behind the scenes to help me and mine. And I was at peace, truly, for the first time in way too long.

As I prayed my intercessory prayers over the next couple of days, I imagined them as scratchings on sheets of paper, and I tried my hardest to make them non-specific.

That the scholarship would come through for my daughter’s dream school that my daughter land exactly where God wants her for college, whole and happy.

That my friend would be completely healed of cancer that my friend be given strength, peace, and yes, healing.

That I find a teaching or writing job that God use my talents to make the lives of people better.

I gathered up all of these scraps of paper, plus many dozens more, and in my mind’s eye, handed them to the Farmer, who read them over with a smile, organized them, and put the requests exactly where they needed to be. Then, I sat with the Farmer for a while as the light streamed in and He worked on washing all of the new eggs for the day. It was nice, just spending time with God there in the barn. I hadn’t done that for a long time.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I imagined myself rushing back in to the barn to make sure those requests had landed in the right mailboxes. I wanted to exert my will and force the details. When I tried to take control back, I imagined the Farmer standing there shaking his sweet head. He said with a sigh, “Kerry, have you ever been to the mail room? Do you even know where it is?”

“No,” I had to admit.

“Have you ever worked here before? Met any of the staff?”

“No.”

“Kerry, do you think you can get those requests to the right people faster or better than me, who runs this whole place, who hired and knows everyone who works here, and has created the very processes we work by? Can you do this better than me?”

No, of course I couldn’t.

He continued, “Kerry, I’m the Farmer and you are definitely not the Farmer. You followed the signs that led to a door that I unlocked for you. I called you back to me, and invited you in, and I took all of your papers and promised to help you with things you cannot accomplish on your own. So you can sit with me here, and I hope you do, but when it comes to your prayers, why don’t you just trust that I’ve got them and that I’m going to do what I said I was going to do? Wouldn’t that be a whole lot easier?”

Yes, of course it would be. And as I jumped back out of the barn into the reality of my own kitchen, I shook my head and laughed. Oh, Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

Oh, God, someday I’ll get it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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