“There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.”
Howard Thurman

To the Heart Land


To the Heart Land,

The beating center of the land we call home. 
The flyover center, so many times forgotten - for  you I write this note.
To say thank you.
Thank you for being a place of fertile soil. 
To nurture the dreams of my heart. 
A change of pace that’s made me realize that going fast is not always the way to go.

You’ve rooted me in understanding depth. That growing slow and steady is often the required course of change.
So many times, I’ve wanted to burn with revival fire.
But it’s your cold winter that’s taught me to wait.
To wait for the time when the seedling has broken through and the roots have begun to grow.  

You’ve taught me the lesson of methodically planning and preparing during the winter months
to plant a field that fosters diversity - a picture of heaven on earth.
I’ve heard the agrarian parables you told in New Testament times. 
And when I hear the farmer’s passion, it’s like my eyes and ears have been opened to
an age long truth you’ve spoken years ago.

In the pumpkin patch, I see the creativity of an artist filled with the spirit
as he expresses his craft.
And I realize that my craft too can be an expression of spirit-filled devotion.
That writing and seeing the world the way I do can inspire hope. 

You’ve taught me to value the things I see and to see in ways I’ve never had before.
You’ve taught me through the farmer and through the painter of words. 
When so many sought war, it was the painter who sought peace.
Able to see beyond the generational desires of general and admiral,
you gave vision to paint a world where beauty in the midst of gray was a source of hope.

So I carry hope with me. Whether I stay in your center or move to the fringe.
My eyes have been opened to realize the value of slowing down, so that I can see.
Where once speeding, all I could see was a blur.

So to you heart land, I thank you from my heart.   
May your rich soil be a place of meditation for many more
to see and to experience that your bitter winter is not a punishment
but a reminder. 
That seasons of new come after seasons of cold and wait.  


Local Experience