We only had about 30 minutes before we were due to leave for youth group. It had already been a full day, and behind the activity, I had that same slosh of grief in my heart that had started weeks before. Our own kids were now living in the U.S. and the absence of their presence, as well as my inability to more personally direct their steps, seemed to leave a well of tears deep in my soul. No amount of crying felt like it dampened its spring. 

I was aware that I might make us late for our meeting (something I wasn’t comfortable with even after years in that country), but I felt nudged to take a quick walk. Tears splashed on my shoes as I headed up the gravel road to the fields above the village. 

When I eventually looked up, I saw something I’d never seen in that area. Hidden among the weeds of the roughly cultivated ground, glorious red poppies bloomed. They were one of my favorites! The evening light was perfect and the gentle sway of those bits of red seemed to erase the line between the visible world and eternity. It was like the light of God’s face had turned toward that section of the earth and shined just for me. His softness surrounded me as He gently reminded me of His beautiful timing. Timing that included the whole process of planted seeds which eventually lead to a harvest. Just as I had walked that field a hundred times and never realized what beautiful seeds He had hidden in the ground, my field of grief had hidden seeds that would spring forth into beauty one day. 

I had needed Him to push me out for a walk that evening so I wouldn’t miss the light of His perspective (2 Corinthians 4:18). I had needed to be reminded that His seeds were planted in my life and in my kids’, and that eventually they would spring up into beauty (Isaiah 61:1-3, 1 Corinthians 3:7). I had needed to be shown that I could still trust His nudge to continue to walk on this path called mission (1 Peter 2:9). His seeds were planted and His beauty would come as certainly as that unknown gift He had planted for me just up the road.