Fallow. Adjective: (Of land) plowed and left unseeded for a season or more; uncultivated. Noun: land that has undergone plowing and harrowing and has been left unseeded for one or more growing seasons.

I had the privilege of hearing Sandra McCracken play her hymn, In Feast or Fallow, this past Sunday a house show. I think the Lord brought me to there that night just to hear this song. To remember.

There is something beautiful that happens in our waiting. I've found myself waiting a lot lately. Waiting for the next revelation. The next opportunity. The next day. The next season. Waiting for hope to be restored. Death to be no more. Tears to stop. Christ's return.

Where's the beauty in dying though? Why must there be the fallow? I've heard it over and over again, the answer to this question. But it has not resonated true in my heart yet. I fight death. I hate death. I want myself. Selfishness. My gain. My harvest. My time.

Yet there must be a fallow season. There must be a time to be stripped, torn, plowed through, left barren. The earth is left, waiting, for it's restoration. For God's gentle hand of nourishment to knead into the tired ground. It's only in this season of the fallow that a harvest can produce.

So I wait. I must learn that waiting is beautiful. That dying brings life. Dying to myself, to my time, to my agenda, to my hopes and dreams. I wait for all restoration. For final redemption. My soul, tired, worn, and stripped. Yet resting in God's nourishment. His gentle hand of faithfulness, grace, and love to an undeserved individual.

As Sandra McCracken says, "Life is like farming, with seasons of planting, waiting, harvesting, and resting." I drink my cup thankfully.

v.1 "When the fields are dry, and the winter is long

Blessed are the meek, the hungry, the poor.

When my soul is downcast, and my voice has no song

For mercy, for comfort, I wait on the Lord

CH: In the harvest feast or the fallow ground

My certain hope is in Jesus found

My lot, my cup, my portion sure

Whatever comes, we shall endure

Whatever comes, we shall endure

We had a great time with friends and a community of broken people longing for hope: