can go back to sleep.”
Becky didn’t argue. She burrowed back under the covers.
Grace grabbed a piece of cheese and an apple and ate them on the back porch while she read a couple of chapters in the Bible that her grandmother usually left lying in the swing. Even in Afghanistan, she had tried to read at least something from the Bible every day. Sometimes she made it and sometimes she didn’t—but living here, it was as easy as breathing.
Ecclesiastes—one of her favorite books—was where she was reading today. She had always thought it quite thoughtful of the ultrawealthy writer of the ancient book to have tried everything under the sun, only to later record that absolutely nothing of a material nature had brought him happiness—that all of his efforts had eventually felt like just a striving after the wind.
As far as she was concerned, the writer of Ecclesiastes was spot on. In her opinion, nothing really mattered in life except the people who loved you and those you loved. That and enjoying the gift of God’s creation while serving Him to the best of one’s ability.
She finished her Bible reading, did her stretches, and felt sorry for anyone who was sleeping in on a beautiful morning like this. As she took off on a gentle trot, she marveled over the fact that she still could not manage to take for granted thefact that she was waking up morning after morning to pleasant, cool weather.
Enduring the summer heat of Afghanistan had been a battle all by itself. The winter was a nightmare of freezing temperatures. That country had seemed to be a place of extremes in everything, from weather to geography to the zeal of its religious adherents.
She shook off the memories of broiling while trying to make a run for a medevac helicopter beneath an Afghanistan sun. This was Ohio. The weather was gorgeous and it was going to be a good day.
There was definitely something wrong with Daniel. The child had wailed nearly all night long. Levi worried about his little brother as he finished his morning chores. Breakfast sounded appealing right now, but he dreaded going back into the house to the gut-clenching sound of his baby brother’s cries. Putting off entering the house for a few more minutes, he walked to the top of the hill behind his house to enjoy the sunrise.
As the sky turned into a panorama of color, his eyes automatically traced a line from the pond to the house. It would be so easy to filter the pond water, put in a pipeline, and create an indoor bathroom for his mother. What a burden of work that would lift off her shoulders! If he was honest, he also sometimes wished for a shower for himself. He had never experienced one, but he was certain it would feel wonderful to have the grime so easily washed off his body at the end of a hard day’s work.
He stood on top of the hill, gazing over his fields. The earth was warm enough for him to sow oats. Very soon he could plant the acreage that, in a four-year crop rotation, was ready for corn.
There were still several acres of old cornstalks that had been left untouched by the men of the church. He was glad. Plowing the land with his four well-trained workhorses was something he enjoyed. Tractors were more efficient, perhaps, although that was hotly debated in some circles. Horses’ feet didn’t compact the earth like heavy tractor wheels and their “emissions” only added to the fertility of the ground. To a frugal farmer, it was no small thing that a horse had the ability to replace itself.
But what he personally disliked about tractors was that they drowned out the music of spring—like the song of the horned lark and the sound of horses snorting with excitement over being back in the fields after a long winter. A tractor caused one to miss the music of harnesses creaking and the satisfying popping of alfalfa roots as the sharp plow blades cut through the rich earth.
As he looked out over his farm, he took a deep breath, savoring the smell of honeysuckle.
Becky didn’t argue. She burrowed back under the covers.
Grace grabbed a piece of cheese and an apple and ate them on the back porch while she read a couple of chapters in the Bible that her grandmother usually left lying in the swing. Even in Afghanistan, she had tried to read at least something from the Bible every day. Sometimes she made it and sometimes she didn’t—but living here, it was as easy as breathing.
Ecclesiastes—one of her favorite books—was where she was reading today. She had always thought it quite thoughtful of the ultrawealthy writer of the ancient book to have tried everything under the sun, only to later record that absolutely nothing of a material nature had brought him happiness—that all of his efforts had eventually felt like just a striving after the wind.
As far as she was concerned, the writer of Ecclesiastes was spot on. In her opinion, nothing really mattered in life except the people who loved you and those you loved. That and enjoying the gift of God’s creation while serving Him to the best of one’s ability.
She finished her Bible reading, did her stretches, and felt sorry for anyone who was sleeping in on a beautiful morning like this. As she took off on a gentle trot, she marveled over the fact that she still could not manage to take for granted thefact that she was waking up morning after morning to pleasant, cool weather.
Enduring the summer heat of Afghanistan had been a battle all by itself. The winter was a nightmare of freezing temperatures. That country had seemed to be a place of extremes in everything, from weather to geography to the zeal of its religious adherents.
She shook off the memories of broiling while trying to make a run for a medevac helicopter beneath an Afghanistan sun. This was Ohio. The weather was gorgeous and it was going to be a good day.
There was definitely something wrong with Daniel. The child had wailed nearly all night long. Levi worried about his little brother as he finished his morning chores. Breakfast sounded appealing right now, but he dreaded going back into the house to the gut-clenching sound of his baby brother’s cries. Putting off entering the house for a few more minutes, he walked to the top of the hill behind his house to enjoy the sunrise.
As the sky turned into a panorama of color, his eyes automatically traced a line from the pond to the house. It would be so easy to filter the pond water, put in a pipeline, and create an indoor bathroom for his mother. What a burden of work that would lift off her shoulders! If he was honest, he also sometimes wished for a shower for himself. He had never experienced one, but he was certain it would feel wonderful to have the grime so easily washed off his body at the end of a hard day’s work.
He stood on top of the hill, gazing over his fields. The earth was warm enough for him to sow oats. Very soon he could plant the acreage that, in a four-year crop rotation, was ready for corn.
There were still several acres of old cornstalks that had been left untouched by the men of the church. He was glad. Plowing the land with his four well-trained workhorses was something he enjoyed. Tractors were more efficient, perhaps, although that was hotly debated in some circles. Horses’ feet didn’t compact the earth like heavy tractor wheels and their “emissions” only added to the fertility of the ground. To a frugal farmer, it was no small thing that a horse had the ability to replace itself.
But what he personally disliked about tractors was that they drowned out the music of spring—like the song of the horned lark and the sound of horses snorting with excitement over being back in the fields after a long winter. A tractor caused one to miss the music of harnesses creaking and the satisfying popping of alfalfa roots as the sharp plow blades cut through the rich earth.
As he looked out over his farm, he took a deep breath, savoring the smell of honeysuckle.
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