Harvest

It is harvest time. I got quite worried when I went by a newly harvested field last week. The ears seemed empty. The field was patterned with mounds of chaff and straw. Either the ears had been empty and discarded when the combine harvester passed through or the farmer had decided not to bail the straw at the same time as threshing and gathering the grain.
The latter seems to be my conclusion. I drove passed a field which was being harvested and was able to watch the grain pouring into the hopper and the residue straw lying in almost neat rows on the shorn field. There is labour aplenty. Late at night we hear tractors returning to the farm having worked long past dark. Evening strolls are accompanied by the thunder of heavy farm machinery. Strong headlights rove up and down the standing wheat, felling and threshing. Later the baler arrives.
The farmer works. He is reaping the fruit of his labour. It is hard work, long hours.

Where is my labour? Where do I spend my energy? Am I telling the story of Jesus' life? More to the point am I telling the stories of Jesus in my life so that those who hear can meet him for themselves?