By Betty Slade
When I look back over the years, I wonder why I always seemed to be in such a hurry. My Sweet Al always says, “Betty, you ride off without the horse.” Was God moving too slow based on what I wanted to experience or see in life?
For all the bumps and bruises I have known, I am sure God just shakes his head and says, “Will she ever learn?”
A scripture I read recently gave meaning I’d not considered before. “Your visitations of glory bless the earth, the rivers of God overflow and enrich it. You paint the wheat fields golden as you provide rich harvests.” — Psalms 65:9 (TPT).
I wonder how many times I have not waited on the Lord and missed a reveal of color that only he could paint.
I have long known that I experience God’s visitation and glory when I see the rain cause rivers to overflow the bank’s edge. Then, as if set by a heavenly clock, new color emerges in nearby fields, announcing that a new season is upon us.
A friend who reminds me of myself called the other day. She had just finished an intense and all-consuming writer’s workshop. Before she could even tell me how things concluded, she changed directions and wanted to tell me about another workshop she wanted to attend.
“Don’t think about the next workshop,” I said, “You haven’t digested the last one. You need to flesh out what you’ve learned, applying it to your work, before proceeding to the next seminar or training endeavor.”
It is interesting how my words to others have become a script that I need to follow myself.
Before the new of any season is ours, it requires a time of watering and nurturing. Eventually, the green wheat fields will turn golden as if touched by God’s own hand. But, not before we take a deep breath and appreciate the process that takes us there. There is a moment that is ours to walk through, before we can know the fruitage it may yield.
We are at a point in the year where we are transitioning from winter to spring. No matter how hard we try, we can’t change or hurry the next season. Seen through the bare limbs of the forest, patches of mud bordered by snow. A new beginning emerges in the form of a tiny blade of grass.
This transition, a time of pause to reflect on God’s revelation, is there for us to acknowledge before we proceed to where we want to go.
Looking back at a time when I taught art classes, my direction to my students then makes more sense to me now. Different seasons have different colors. You don’t paint a landscape Kelly green if you are creating an autumn morning on your canvas.
We are taught in the book of Ecclesiastes that God appoints all seasons, each with its own purpose and reason. We can’t possibly know tomorrow or its potential until we experience the fullness of today.
What if we don’t like where we find ourselves? Daniel from the Old Testament told us that bondage had to be accomplished before his people could know freedom.
“A time to plant; and a time to pluck what is planted …” explains the parable of the tares. While there are some unwanted things that grow in the now, we have to let them live in their space before plucking them from view.
Jesus warns us not to pull them up but to leave the tares in the field with the wheat. To let them grow in order to save the good grain growing among. It seems so odd that we would want to hang on to something that doesn’t belong, but that is the order of nature and the only way we can truly reap any benefit therein.
Final brushstroke: If we look around, we will see that an appointed season is for both the righteous and the unrighteous. I am reminded that God doesn’t just bring growth to a single blade of grass, but rains on the open field. That way, we will truly know what his visitation produces, even if mixed within the mire and mud that surrounds it.
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