Take Care of the Living

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I moved the pasture fence  to the last available section of new grass.  I had to hammer in each post wearing gloves.  My boots kicked off the ice on the water troughs. Autumn leaves trapped within the ice.   Seemingly overnight the flock has turned into barrels of wool with legs.  A barn full of hay has become a love language to me…. and this HusBen of mine has bought more hay then we can fit in our barn….an overflow … an abundance.

Autumn is a time of reflection…

What will I do differently?

What grew?

What flourished?

All are growing  nicely.

save one patch…

A pasture I have seeded multiple times barely grows.  Watered. Fertilized. Ample sun. Protected. Yet it doesn’t come into growth the way it should.  It has all the elements to be the lushest pasture I have … and nothing. I look over it’s congregation of growth and I see some living… and I smile to know the ground is good.  I know the Son is good.  I know the water is nourishing the willow tree with its deep roots.  So then what stops the rest from coming into the fullness?  Each seed contains everything it needs to sprout and grow… yet nothing. Why not grow?  Why choose to languish as a seed…Why be a dang seed if you don’t want to grow into what you were meant to be!  So what to do?  I read the Manual… these seeds were supposed to do something.  Do I give up on this pasture with promise? And I get it… there will be worn patches in every pasture…. but the whole thing shouldn’t be stunted, save a few plants.  Was I wrong to hope for everything to grow as thick and full as the few blooming beautiful living plants in there… as the Manual said it could?

Do I dig out those living… grow them where they will be appreciated?

sigh.

What do I do?

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I take care of the living.  I don’t know what I do with the rest.

I make soup stock…. because a Body meets here every Sunday to grow strong.

I take my sheep to the green pastures… and when that is done they feast on mountains of hay.

The season is changing…. so you take care of the living.

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