April 3rd

Will it Ever Rain Again? 

What is that kernel of wheat?

What lies inside that grain seed?

Does it have a glorious past?

Could we have known what great harvests were coming?

We settled on foreign soil.

They called it Alberta.

We gathered.

We shared the land.

We built our homes.

Our families flourished.

What memories does that kernel of wheat have?

Can it remember the days of old?

What would that lonely grain seed have to hang on to?

Once it was high up on a stock of grain.

Surrounded by plenty!

We saw it waving like an ocean swell.

We laboured in the fields.

Every year we knew a harvest was coming.

We prayed for good weather.

We asked the Lord of the Harvest for rain.

And the rains came!

Sometimes slowly.

Not always what we asked for.

We longed for stocks with thirty, 

Sixty and some one hundred heads of wheat.

And the Lord of the Harvest had favour on our fields!

It was glorious!

We worshipped and praised the Lord who gives,

And we honoured the God who takes away.

We thought it could never be taken away!

That was so far from our expectations.

But the former glory has passed.

We watched it wither and die.

We can’t go back.

There are new weather patterns.

The winds of change have come roaring down the mountains.

They tear through the prairies.

The hot sun scorches our former means of irrigation.

Are we talking about farming?

Or is the field the world?

Is the good seed not the children of the kingdom?

Is that the harvest we long for?

Is that the former glory, slipping through our blistered hands?

The old ways no longer produce.

We lie here like a seed that has fallen on the path.

There seems to be no soil for roots to take hold.

We feel like we are dying where we lie.

Are we dying?

Is this the end?

We feel it.

The former glory is gone.

It will not return.

Like that seed that has fallen to the ground, we sense the decay.

And we give in.

We surrender.

We cannot resurrect the good old days.

It is finished.

And so … we let go.

But wait!

I hear wind in the trees!

The leaves are lifting under the thrust of a fresh wind.

There is moisture in the air.

We hear thunder!

Rain is coming!

As it washes over us, we feel the swell.

New life is welling up in us!

Can it be?

Dare we believe?

Do I hear the call of the Lord of the Harvest once again?

Is there laughter in the camp of his labourers?

Wait! My once dry shell is breaking open.

I feel my heart expanding.

A small shoot is reaching down, 

To take root in the new soil of this new day.

We are sprouting upwards toward the warmth of the Son!

Our hands are lifting!

Praise bursts forth from our once-tired hearts.

The former ways have passed.

They are truly gone.

We surrender!

The Lord of the Harvest calls us up from our slumber.

And we spring forth once again, 

Not knowing what our harvest will yield.

We can’t see how the Master will bring forth fruit.

But this time we surrender to Hope!

And we pray to the Lord of the Harvest again!

We will go into the fields once more and plant our seeds.

Because the fields cry out,

Will it ever rain again?