The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels. ~ Matthew 13: 39
This line from today’s Reading lingers before me while others move ahead. I see the words: Harvest. End of age. Harvesters. Angels. All of these marked the old July. A few short weeks before, such a line would have filled me with dread. And the way July this year shaped up for us, would have added shadows to the chill in me.
But since the passing of my colleague’s husband, and the prayer journey we took as a family, and since a physical and financial difficulty we faced over the weekend, something has changed within me. I fleetingly sense something has taken root. A calm I never had before. A quietness to my strength. A gent~ling. It’s as if someone not me has come to live within me.
The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.
For the first time, I am filled with hope. Always one to fear the Cross despite my best attempts to love it, I cannot understand this reaction. I cannot explain it.
Neither can I explain my conviction that the harvest has indeed begun.