Lord of the Harvest

Son of God,

Another day begins,

And the world of possibilities spans out before me,

And I’m restless with it.

 

Outside my window,

The world is filled with shades,

Of both dark,

And light.

 

And the way the clouds brood,

Always makes my hair stand on end.

The air tinged with mystery,

And anticipation.

 

Rain that You will send on the earth.

Storm from Your own storehouse.

Clouds and thick darkness surround You,

As You come,

To bring water on the earth.

 

God who comes,

And sends His rain down,

To water the crops,

And to cause the earth,

To yield her growth.

 

You are God,

Who makes the ground to yield.

You are God,

Who causes to grow,

That which we,

Have planted and worked.

 

God Almighty,

I think of that,

As my head spins with excitement,

And wonder,

At the multitude of plans and potentialities,

Swirling through my mind.

 

What could be,

Excites me.

What will be,

Is up to Your hand.

 

And even in the midst,

Of working to tend my own garden,

I feel You working deep in me,

Breaking up my heart’s fallow ground,

And planting righteousness,

Deep in me.

 

And as I water my own crops,

With many tears,

And much sweat,

I know that it is You who works within me,

To will and to work,

For that which is Your good pleasure.

 

And as I labor,

And wrestle with my own heart,

And plans,

I know that it is You,

Who is bringing forth a crop,

In me.

 

And You use the trials,

Of loss and shattered dreams,

To break up the ground in my heart,

Grown cold and hard,

Through pride and arrogance,

And laziness of the deadliest sort.

Laziness with holiness.

Laziness with hearts.

 

And You bring the storms of adversity,

To purge tears from eyes,

Too long dry.

And Your thunder and lightning,

Light up my soul.

And the breaking of my arrogant heart,

Brings forth rain.

 

God alone who gives,

The gift of repentance.

God alone who works,

To bring humility and holiness,

To the heart.

 

And as the knees touch the earth,

And the tears flow like salty streams,

I feel it.

The burst of growth within me,

I feel it.

 

And I know,

The earth has begun to yield her crop.

The heart has begun to sprout its growth.

 

Tender thing growing up within me,

I feel it.

I gaze upon it with wonder,

And I guard it jealously.

 

For this is the precious gift of life,

From the Most High God.

And may nothing dare try,

To take it from me.

 

I watch for the enemy,

For I know he will try,

To crush the tender thing where it stands.

 

And haven’t I let him before?

It’s not long before weeds and thorns,

Spring up.

And it doesn’t take much,

To stifle the holiness.

One wild weed,

Is all it takes.

 

How grateful I am, Lord,

That You do not leave my soul untended.

How grateful I am,

That You do not willingly surrender me,

To the weeds.

 

But You fight for my soul.

God who has redeemed me,

You keep watch over my soul.

 

And You discipline me,

And prune me,

And weed my heart,

Of thorns and thistles.

 

You work holiness down deep.

You plant righteousness,

In the secret heart.

And You watchfully tend it,

And make it grow.

 

And You are making me,

A tree of righteousness,

Fit for the courts of my God.

With roots that grow deep,

And a heart that grows strong,

You plant me,

And make me grow.

 

The kingdom of God,

Is such as this.

The tiniest seed,

That grows into,

The tallest and strongest of trees.

 

And the birds of the air come,

And make their home,

Among the branches.

 

God Almighty,

You are God,

Who causes all growth.

And the land only yields,

Because You want it to.

 

You are God Almighty,

Who can bring forth as much,

Or as little,

As He chooses.

Even from the smallest,

Of seeds.

 

And You work in me,

To tend the garden,

As You will it to be tended.

And what grows here,

Will be exactly what You,

Desire to grow.

 

Whether it yields thirty-fold,

Or sixty-fold,

Or a hundred-fold,

Is up to You.

 

God who gives talents and crops,

In varying degrees and measures,

For His purposes.

 

And a small yield,

Is still a holy yield.

And it’s only those who are faithful in little,

Who can ever be faithful in much.

Whether in this world,

Or the one to come.

~Selah~

 

Jesus,

Son of God,

I ponder all these things,

And the way You give all growth,

And increase.

And how all the good we feast on,

Is food from Your own hand.

 

And it’s all You,

From first to last.

And You do all things well.

It’s all,

You.

And I am amazed.

 

And everyplace I go today,

You are there.

And every tender shoot of growth I touch today,

Is fruit from Your hand.

 

And I walk,

In tender fields of green.

Tender spouts,

Growing up everywhere.

And I know,

You have been here.

 

And as I walk these fields,

I can look up,

And know,

That You are here,

And watching over all Your growth,

Still.

~Selah~

 

God Almighty,

As I walk Your fields,

As I touch Your growth,

In human souls,

Let me tremble at the beauty,

And the holy,

And the mystery,

Here.

 

Let me know that I walk on holy ground,

For the Lord of the harvest,

Has done this.

And the Lord of the harvest,

Stands here still.

 

And He is preparing His crops,

His field,

His vineyard,

For His harvest.

~Selah~

 

Son of God,

There is so much more,

I could write about You.

There is so much more,

That rings in my head,

Like a reverie,

And a revelry.

 

Yet the mystery of this,

Is what grabs the fingers of my soul,

And this is where I write,

And dig.

 

And there is holy mystery here.

And it is not to be taken lightly,

Or passed over.

 

O, but let me dig my hands in deep,

Feel the soil beneath my fingertips,

And linger here with You,

In Your field, O God.

 

Jesus,

Son of God,

And the Lord of Your Church.

Lord of the harvest.

Lord of the growth.

 

O, let us bow in humble reverence before You!

Before the Son of God,

The Lord of the harvest who reigns here.

 

And the Almighty God,

And Father,

Who tends the field of His Son,

Like a watchful gardener.

Like the interested and invested owner,

Of a precious vineyard.

 

God who tends with tenderness,

And tenacity.

God who prunes and weeds,

And breaks,

And grows.

 

All glory belongs to You,

O, Lord.

For though we work,

With our own hands here,

The growth and the effort,

Is Yours,

From first to last.

~Selah~

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