Rich Harvest

Family is a field to grow in.

Where children grow up

and parents grow patient.

Where mothers grow in maturity

and fathers grow in forgiveness.

Where sons grow in self-control

and daughters in discernment.

And this is what He (God) means —

For us to stretch and dig down and reach out

and for family to grow us full in the faith.

(Ann Voskamp

I love these words. They are not mine.  They flow from a woman who lives on a farm, who writes what she sees, and sees what she writes.  The eyes and hands that once were her own have been given back to the One who formed them.  I offer these words as evidence.  g. bullock


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Nippy mornings and flaming trees announce her return.  Her attire, the same as remembered, yet startlingly original.  When she unfolds her arms, the years of her generosity come into focus in her lanky shadow and brilliant light.

November gave my mother a child, her third, a girl, with eyes just like her own. November whispered my new name when I became a wife. November sang out in fear and wonder when I was plunged into baptismal water and came out new.

November chills me into wooly sweaters, warms me into throwing them off again, shouts lustily at football games, kindles first fires, surrounds me with huddling friends, insists on cozy celebrations, smells of wood, tastes apple-ly, wrinkles leaves and hands, embeds desire for giving thanks, and summons the vibrant, harvest of life.