The shovel strikes hard rocky dirt. Muscles bunch as another scoop is hoisted, and tossed aside. The earth doesn’t yield easy. I don’t yield easy. Sweat trickles; grime coats both skin and clothing. A breeze kicks up bringing the first drops of sweet cooling rain. Like a gentle washing straight from God.
My husband sits in the cramped space, controls under hand: scoop, carry, dump. Over and over. Tires both churn up and press down the earth. Again and again. I have felt both churned up and pressed down. Yet, God is in control always scooping me up, carrying me along, dumping the sin from my repentant heart. Over and over. Again and again. Grace and mercy from the Father.
Father teaches his son how to navigate a machine far bigger than his boyish frame. Patient instruction in safety and use. Back up, move forward, lift up, drop low, tilt down, level out. Then rest the scoop on the ground. Shut it down. A proud boy grasps his dad’s hand, and jumps from the machine. His dad nods approval.
I hear my Father’s voice through the loudness of the world. Daily teaching about faith, love, goodness. His patient instruction guides me step by step. My obedience receives His nod of approval. And like my son, my heart dances, and I smile big.
Peace settles across hard working shoulders. The silence broken only when rake finds rock. Work is hard, but good. The body tired marvels at the mind clear. With time’s passage, the landscape shifts smoother. Like clay in the Potter’s hand. Take me into your hands, Lord, and shape me into something beautiful.
46. good and hard work.
47. cool, refreshing rain.
48. dad snuggling with his children.
49. sons learning the value of work.
50. lessons of grace and mercy.