The apples are picked
Fields gleaned of their goodness
are quiet as an empty womb yet
they whisper even at rest, "Fill us"
Those obedient first fruits are content,
the ones who fell as seed from hands
newly come from April's sunrise prayer,
fully ingathered now and bursting with
summer's stored vitality
The empty fields do not call
to such delicate seed to be filled
They beckon to the hard-shelled,
Johnny-come-latelies who slept through
spring rains and abstained from the
glorious summer sun
"Fill us" they call as the days
shorten and the ground chills
There is bounty saved for these
late hours where frost sings
your beauty to life-
where December celebrates
Christ's nativity and your own
You are the second spring whose
holy bread all the long winters of this world
have waited for
Winter Wheat by Kat Cavanaugh LaMantia
for Melanya
A friend asked me to write something for a teaching she is doing on getting a late start. I am hoping she will post it to her own wonderful blog and I can list the link. It would be a blessing to all of us who were slow out of the gate. I do recall how the greatest race horse who ever lived made leaving last his signature move- but with most of us we fear we will never "catch up".
Sarah and Abraham probably had those "lost" thoughts but look at the turn around their lives took. The truth is if you have breath you have possibilities.
After all, God was petty old when He took up gardening.
-kl
Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us. Ephesians 3:20
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