Dear Farmer,

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Bradley Robertson

By BRADLEY ROBERTSON

Letters, also known as snail mail. Have you written one lately?

I know it’s hard. I know to sit still and contemplate the good and gratitude isn’t easy, but it can be.

Expressing our heart on paper to those we love, shouldn’t it be an act worth taking time for?

Yes it should. I’m going to get you started on your own letter to whom ever is on your heart. A little more thought and time can make the loveliest difference to someone. Simple kindness. I’m certain we need a little more of that…

Dear Farmer,

How are you today? Can you believe that another season of fall is upon us?

One of my favorite things about living in the country with you is the obvious change of nature day to day. We get to see it and feel it so clearly. Fall isn’t just leaves changing and cooler temps, it’s corn in the silo, planting seeds in the dirt and watching the moon grow larger every evening.

Sheppy pointed out the moon to me just last night. “Mom, check out the moon. It’s big!” He was in the dark front yard and he took notice of something so amazing. Our children see, they see and notice the coming and going of each and every day. This farm life that I never imagined has proven to be so giving.

I love how God gives to us. He created all the things we are meant to see, and he created you and me.

God gives and he gives more and more and more. Our farm is the place of dreams. It serves us and loves into each new day. It’s like we have a visual reminder that all things can be made new.

Including me and you.

I got to watch you and the children harvest corn last week. It is an amazing thing to plant a tiny corn kernel, watch it grow tall all summer long, hanging on to every drop of rain. It stands so green for weeks and weeks and then the slow turn to brown. They are fields of tan sticks that look desolate but are housing the kernels of grain you harvest to help provide for our family. Slow and steady, but sturdy and loved.

Could this be us? Could this be the mystery that holds us together?

Slow and steady, sturdy and loved.

You are the crafter of the soil, the son of the one who crafted you for good works. Our roots run deeper than seep. So that perhaps what ever happens above ground may never be ushered apart.

We have this hope in the depths of our soul and we see that hope every day. It’s in the sun rising so early in our bedroom window. It’s the gathering of a crop you have so patiently waited for. It’s the planting of seeds with your oldest son, for the greens we will eat in December. It’s the feeding of the fish in our pond so our little fisherman Shep can catch us some dinner. It’s the giggles of your little girl who is growing up into a lady. It’s me and you, sipping wine in the evening under our country sky.

Thank you for this farm life. God knew right where he wanted us. Right here, today.

I love you,

Bradley

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