dear farmer.

excuse me sir, 
yes, you with the
white paint under your fingernails,
splattered on your elbows,
are you loving your wife well?
you, with the bowl of green beans
nuked in the microwave with a 
splash of water,
what are you going to do with that bowl
when you're done?
you, with the brand new son,
his small cries echo across the 
plaster walls, the wooden floors,
will you tend to him?
do you understand that
digging into the depths of who God 
is and where to find Him
is in the eyes of your wife?
Do you know that seeking first the kingdom of God
is raising up a warrior 
in the small frame of your offspring?
Do you know 
He doesn't always ask for lofty ideas
and uncharted territory,
but to act justly, 
love mercy,
and walk humbly with Him?
You, with the gray moss,
climbing the temples of your face
may i challenge you to 
find ways to serve 
your love?
she who captured your eyes
with her joy and beauty
and her ability to tend to the garden.
she is a garden, my friend.
water her, give her room to grow,
plant, till, tend, and stand back
as the harvest proves
plentiful and overflowing
from beneath your care.
dear farmer,
sometimes the lowliest of seedlings
bear the most fruit
if watered well...