During the year before we moved to Asheville, North Carolina, Ben started talking about having a farm and raising some cows. One of those conversations resulted in his now-famous statement, "You just put them in the field and they eat grass. How hard can it be?" In the 7 years since then, we've gotten a little taste of how hard it can be, and we hope to not taste much more.
One of the things we've learned about our area of Virginia is that you either get too much rain or not enough. The last two years have been fairly dry. I always thought that would be great, not being much of a soggy-shoes-and-limp-hair kind of gal, but when there are thousand-pound mouths to feed, your attitude starts to change.
The first year in Virginia we bought what we thought would be enough hay to last through the winter until the grass greened up in the spring. We were short a few rolls, but we managed to find enough here and there and nobody died.
Last summer, Ben went on a hay-buying roll (HA). I don't remember how many rolls he hauled from several different farms (it was in the hundreds), but we made it through the winter and still have a lot left. He picked up the last few rolls just two weeks ago, and since they're the extra-huge ones, he plopped them in the barnyard so he wouldn't have far to go to put them in the hay rings where the mamas and babies were wintering. A couple were also kind of falling apart, so there are random piles of hay strewn around. If you ever want to see the true farmhouse look, come on by; we have it nailed.
The other day he was doing a little cleaning up with the tractor when he noticed something in one of the piles. He got off the tractor to look and found a nest of tiny bunnies that some smart little mama had stashed there to keep warm. They were all piled on top of each other sleeping soundly. So he covered them back up and put a pallet over them so he wouldn't inadvertently run them over.
Of course I had to see them for myself when I went out, so Ben showed me and there they still were. I told them right out loud, "I'm going to hate you when you get in my garden this summer, but right now you sure are cute!" I refrained from naming them. Ben covered them back up, even adding extra hay on top to make sure they stayed warm. A tender move for a man with such a tough exterior. It reminded me of Psalm 92:1–2.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, HE is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
I can honestly say I never knew my need for a refuge—for safety—until a car hit me head-on. Then it became the foremost thing in my mind, and I've gone to therapy for a year and a half trying to figure out how to feel safe again. There is so much I didn't know about trauma and how it affects the mind and body, and I learn a little more every day.
There's not one simple fix; it takes a lot of work in a lot of different areas to heal from a traumatic event, whether it's a car accident or PTSD from military service or some kind of abuse. But part of what I needed has been to immerse myself in who God is: what is his character, what does he promise, how does he care for his children? My recent editing of a devotional book my pastor wrote has helped me do that.
When I edit a book that includes scripture references, I look up every single verse. I check the reference, make sure it's quoted exactly as it's written, and check the punctuation. It's a lot of attention to detail and I read the verses slowly so I get them right.
As I was working through the book, I noticed some verses came up again and again, like the one above. I try to pay attention when that happens; maybe God is trying to show me something. In this case, I'm sure he was.
First, the verse says "He that dwelleth . . ."
Not "he that pops in occasionally" or "he that stops by for a quick fill-up," but he that dwelleth. I have to live there, every day, all the time. We are building a house out at the farm, so we go out to work on it most days, but for now we dwell in the house next to the church. It's where we eat and sleep and work and fellowship. It's where we live our life, day and night.
Then the verse says ". . . in the secret place of the most High . . ."
Listen, I'm no Bible scholar, but I know how to use a free Bible app. I looked up "secret place" and that phrase appears in the Bible exactly 7 times. Each time it's a place of hiding, where the person or thing hidden won't be discovered. I figure if I dwell in God's secret place, it's a safe bet no one will find me.
So what happens when I dwell in God's secret place? I "abide under the shadow of the Almighty." I picture little helpless me in my pile of hay, and God in all his hugeness standing over me keeping harm away, like a divine superhero. I am a baby bunny. I'm hidden away so predators can't find me. God even puts a little extra hay on to keep me warm. Then he slides a pallet over the top for extra protection and stands guard continually. Always there, watching. I'm under his shadow, safe and secure.
I will say of the LORD, HE is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
If you're interested in a copy of Psalms to Study during Seasons of Uncertainty: 30-Day Devotional, contact the church office here.