Why It’s All Okay at the end of the Week

When I get home, the Farmer shows me these three stapled pages sent from the vet.

A to-do list the length of your arm of what has to be done to protect all the pigs from some new disease.

He talks in low tones, but I am really listening to what his eyes are saying.

These three pages of protocols have to be done immediately. The Farmer pulls me close. His T-shirt smells like the barn, like grease from the shop.

There are piano lessons and beat-up Latin books and deadlines and stacks of bills and unanswered mail and math homework and dishes in the sink and deadlines and Joshua hands me this stack of forms he needs help with for university applications.

Where do you apply for everything to be okay?

The kids run down the back walk toward the barn and morning chores. The Farmer and I watch them from the window, his hand resting steady on my shoulder.

And I nod slow… exhale.

Where we feel weak, our weaknesses are a cup for God’s power.

Where we feel stretched thin, our stretching is a canvas for God’s glory.

Where we feel out of our depths, right there is where we touch the depths of the love of God.

The Farmer squeezes my shoulder, us standing there at the windowsill with the daffodils leaning toward light.

 

 

 

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