One morning last week we rolled out of Fresno- sun barely lit the new sky.
"From the fertile fields that feed our nation", boomed the local radio voice.
fertile fields indeed, and the apricots--oh my, I ate more than any small woman should . . .
The previous evening I helped my old friend pick ripe fruit-
Laden branches and leaves muffled our voices and again my friend talked about her heavy trial.
"When we suffer, God is working to create in us a deeply affectionate, caring heart." I shared.
Then we walked down the path, buckets of fruit pulling on our shoulders and my friend stopped,
"That's true," she responded, "Can you tell how He's working in me?"
mmmm, dear friend, I can tell. . .
No comments:
Post a Comment