September always brought the “Almond Wars.”

Once upon a time when an old almond orchard was our backyard. The boys gathered all the almonds on the ground and threw them at each other. If you could make someone say “ouch” you got a point. Of course I did not approve of this game.

But I miss the boys laughing and yelling over almond wars. And I miss our old almond trees. The orchard blew down in the big storm of ’08. We now have an open field behind our house. The older kids talk of putting in a sand volleyball court. For now, a soccer goal and a star thistle field I mow once a month graces the place.

Yesterday, I woke to shotgun blasts at dawn. Opening of dove season. I love our doves and don’t allow hunting on our property. Down the road, the neighbors hunt. Up at Oma and Opa’s, the boys hunted.

 

While the boys chased birds in the buttes, with a Bible on my lap, I searched for truth this first day of September.

What kind of faith are we really harvesting here?

On Sunday at church, I hugged a fellow farmer. We both agreed how glad we are to see autumn arrive. To have the peaches off the trees, and the fruit boxes stacked for next year. “I need the rest,” this farmer said. I put my hand on his eighty-two-year-old shoulder. “Me too. But we have fed people,” I said, and we both grinned.

On Monday, a harvest moon filled our bedroom, shining through the windows like a midnight sun. I heard the tractors in the nearby orchards. The nut harvest rolling into the night, and I couldn’t sleep. Not because of the tractors. I kept seeing her face. That sweet friend from church who died Monday morning in a car accident.

“Every tear of sorrow sown by the righteous springs up a pearl,” said Matthew Henry.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalm 56:8.

I picked a basket of Flavor King pluots and signed a sympathy card for this dear church family harvesting grief. Time will take the edge of their pain, but their house on earth will never be the same. I know. Oh, how I know, and I hurt for them.

Can a person harvest peace when the days keep dishing out pain?

I hope so.

Oh, how I hope so.

And September. Sweet September…

Football is here.

Acorns are here.

Falling leaves are here.

Growing up, the first of September was like a national holiday for our family. One big party. Hunters and guns and get the doves. For me, it was save the doves. You had to be a fast little girl to outrun the dogs. Sometimes I won and a dove lived. I’d nurse it back to health and release it after hunting season.

I’ve always been a hoper. A dreamer. A dove saver.

I love the coo of a dove.

Doves mate for life.

Doves signify the Holy Spirit.

Yesterday, a dove sat on our fence all alone. Usually they come in pairs. This dove must have lost its mate. Perhaps at the neighbors’ down the road. This happens. The battle is real here on earth.

I’ve been studying the Book of Job this summer. After all those bad things happened to Job, he cried out to God, and God said, “Who is this that darkens my counsel by words without knowledge? Now brace yourself like a man, And I will ask you, and you instruct Me! Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding…” Job 38:3-4.

In the Bible, Job was a righteous man. God loved him. Yet, God did not come down easy on Job. God basically told Job, “You don’t understand my ways. Get over yourself.”

We don’t like to hear: get over ourselves. But as Christians, as human beings, we really need to get over ourselves. September is a month of dying. The leaves are dying. The fields are dying. The doves are dying.

And in all this dying a world is being fed.

The harvest is here.

Our son Luke has never played football before. A senior in high school, this is his first season. He’s second string on a really good team. “It’s not about me,” Luke said the other day as he and his dad talked about football. “It’s about the team. You do what’s best for your team.”

My mommy’s heart swelled with gratitude hearing this. Luke is used to playing first string in sports. Now he’s learning what we all need to learn. Life is not about us. You do what’s best for the team. Imagine this in our marriages? In our parenting? In our churches? Our country?

Dying to ourselves. Doing what’s best for the team. Accepting what harvest really means.Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. John 12:24.