Now, the old farmer still rolls up his sleeves each morning, still picks up his tools, still swings the bag of seed over his shoulders, still asks the Master where he needs the seed sown. Harvests have come—and gone. Farming is not for the weak of heart or the soft in spirit.
There once was a young farmer who found great pleasure in working the soil.
Pleasure - Soil - Pleasure - Harvest - Mind
And though his pleasure was great as he tilled the soil, his pleasure was rooted in the harvest he saw in his mind.
So he watered the ground with his sweat until the skin peeled from his bleeding hands.
It did not matter that this small farm did not belong to him.
It was his Master’s.
Master - Land - Daybreak
The Master had asked him to work the land from daybreak to sunset.
And because the Master had asked, the farmer did.
Years - Farmer - Heat - Day - Floods
For ten years the farmer toiled in the heat of the day. He saw floods and fires, pestilence and drought. But...
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