Many of you know that when Ryan and I first started to get serious that I told him, "I am not a farmer's wife," just so he was clear up front. Needless to say we're now married nearly ten years, and until last summer, there was little danger of me being a farmer's wife. I introduced myself at a recent PASA meeting by saying I swore I'd never be a farmer's wife (God so loves it when we say "never," it's like a dare to Him!), and someone commented that didn't mean I couldn't be a farmer. I found that amusing.
This morning I found myself in the greenhouse picking lettuce for over an hour. Does that qualify me as a farmer? The scary part... I think I enjoyed it! There's something about the white noise of the greenhouse in contrast to a whiny 3-year-old. :) The radio was on to the local Christian station, and as praise and worship music filled the greenhouse, I was reminded that this greenhouse and everything in it is His. His property, His produce, His will. Even if His will makes me a farmer's wife... or perhaps a farmer.
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