When I was a little girl growing up on our farm, every summer my brothers and I would get handed a spade and receive our orders to head out into the pastures to stick thistles.
As I heard my dad beckoning us to get our work clothes on, I wondered why he would make us do something so tedious. Rouging the bean fields, for as much as I despised it, made sense. Sticking thistles? In the pastures? It’s not as though anyone is going to run barefoot across that grass… And who in their right mind gives tools with blades to young siblings and turns them loose in a field?
But who argues with my dad when he gives orders?
So the three of us would set off on our journey of never-ending-thistle-sticking.
If my memory serves me correctly, I don’t think we thoroughly covered the hundreds of acres. Then again, I’m not quite sure I presently believe that my dad set us out on this mission because the thistles were, “bad for the cows” either. If anything…it was busy-work for his kids. Something to keep us out of trouble, and maybe…just maybe some tactic to instill some kind of work ethic in us.
I don’t think I have ever worked so hard as when my dad would put us to work on the farm.
We would begin just on the other side of the fence. Still being within eyesight of our dad, we made a very conscious effort to look like we were working hard. We’d spread out, far enough to where we’d each have our own section of ground to cover, but close enough to talk…or argue.
As we made our way into the valley or over the hill, it would typically turn from work…to a game. Sticking thistles turned into sticking cow patties and occasionally picking them up (we’d have gloves on) and launching them like they were Frisbees. Or ammunition. I think I’ve had my fair share of getting pegged with cow patties.
…For those who have heard me claim to be a “Tom Boy” maybe now you can understand why.
Anyway…for whatever reason, this memory came over me today. Sticking thistles. And I really didn’t know where I was going to go with this blog and the correlation between sticking thistles until this very moment.
Sometimes God calls us to a task that seems anything but logical to us. And sometimes God creates circumstances and situations, devastating as they may be, to grab our attention and work out His plan if that’s the only way He can open our hearts and minds and turn us towards Him.
My morning prayer time with God lately has included a whirlwind of emotions. There are so many people in my life that are in desperate need of emotional, spiritual and physical healing. Pregnancies with complications, family members in need of relationships with Jesus, harbored bitterness, untimely deaths, terminal disease, shattered marriages, tragic car accidents, financial distress.
As I pray…God sends comfort. Knowing that there will be struggles in this world, He reassures me that He is in control. While I sit in heartache and confusion, He beckons me to continue to pray…and allow Him to do His work.
“How can I pray for one situation to turn out one way, and yet selfishly desire for another situation to be different?” I confess.
“Because you’re human…” He whispers. “It’s ok…I know the desires of your heart.”
I received news this past weekend that a friend of mine was in an unfortunate situation which led him to the hospital in the ICU. That was the first part of the news. The second part of it…is the miracle. A tragedy that has the potential to be turned into God’s triumph. A testimony in the making. So while our initial response is, “What more could happen to this man?” God is shaking His head and saying, “You keep praying and trust in Me. I’m working here…and you will be amazed.”
Like my dad…God calls me. He tells me to get my work clothes on, and hands me the spade. He orders me to remain faithful in prayer. He reassures me that if I am obedient in this, He will take care of the rest. And while often times my mind is confused, He sees through to my heart. When I may not understand, He does. While I stand in never-ending-fields of thistles, wondering why I’m being called to such a task, He sends messengers with news like that of my friend in ICU.
As I heard my dad beckoning us to get our work clothes on, I wondered why he would make us do something so tedious. Rouging the bean fields, for as much as I despised it, made sense. Sticking thistles? In the pastures? It’s not as though anyone is going to run barefoot across that grass… And who in their right mind gives tools with blades to young siblings and turns them loose in a field?
But who argues with my dad when he gives orders?
So the three of us would set off on our journey of never-ending-thistle-sticking.
If my memory serves me correctly, I don’t think we thoroughly covered the hundreds of acres. Then again, I’m not quite sure I presently believe that my dad set us out on this mission because the thistles were, “bad for the cows” either. If anything…it was busy-work for his kids. Something to keep us out of trouble, and maybe…just maybe some tactic to instill some kind of work ethic in us.
I don’t think I have ever worked so hard as when my dad would put us to work on the farm.
We would begin just on the other side of the fence. Still being within eyesight of our dad, we made a very conscious effort to look like we were working hard. We’d spread out, far enough to where we’d each have our own section of ground to cover, but close enough to talk…or argue.
As we made our way into the valley or over the hill, it would typically turn from work…to a game. Sticking thistles turned into sticking cow patties and occasionally picking them up (we’d have gloves on) and launching them like they were Frisbees. Or ammunition. I think I’ve had my fair share of getting pegged with cow patties.
…For those who have heard me claim to be a “Tom Boy” maybe now you can understand why.
Anyway…for whatever reason, this memory came over me today. Sticking thistles. And I really didn’t know where I was going to go with this blog and the correlation between sticking thistles until this very moment.
Sometimes God calls us to a task that seems anything but logical to us. And sometimes God creates circumstances and situations, devastating as they may be, to grab our attention and work out His plan if that’s the only way He can open our hearts and minds and turn us towards Him.
My morning prayer time with God lately has included a whirlwind of emotions. There are so many people in my life that are in desperate need of emotional, spiritual and physical healing. Pregnancies with complications, family members in need of relationships with Jesus, harbored bitterness, untimely deaths, terminal disease, shattered marriages, tragic car accidents, financial distress.
As I pray…God sends comfort. Knowing that there will be struggles in this world, He reassures me that He is in control. While I sit in heartache and confusion, He beckons me to continue to pray…and allow Him to do His work.
“How can I pray for one situation to turn out one way, and yet selfishly desire for another situation to be different?” I confess.
“Because you’re human…” He whispers. “It’s ok…I know the desires of your heart.”
I received news this past weekend that a friend of mine was in an unfortunate situation which led him to the hospital in the ICU. That was the first part of the news. The second part of it…is the miracle. A tragedy that has the potential to be turned into God’s triumph. A testimony in the making. So while our initial response is, “What more could happen to this man?” God is shaking His head and saying, “You keep praying and trust in Me. I’m working here…and you will be amazed.”
Like my dad…God calls me. He tells me to get my work clothes on, and hands me the spade. He orders me to remain faithful in prayer. He reassures me that if I am obedient in this, He will take care of the rest. And while often times my mind is confused, He sees through to my heart. When I may not understand, He does. While I stand in never-ending-fields of thistles, wondering why I’m being called to such a task, He sends messengers with news like that of my friend in ICU.
Pray. Honestly. Fervently. Obediently.
Who argues with my Dad when He gives orders?
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