He Waits On The Edges of Fields

Below is a something I wrote in the morning on the last day of a Men's Retreat. There was a light dew on a field I was looking across, and an easy breeze moving through the tops of the trees. The sights and sounds made me wonder if GOD waits for us to come away from the insanity of life to seek Him out and to listen to what He has to say. I took this photo a couple years ago. It seems to fit.




He Waits On the Edges of Fields
He waits on the edges of fields,
The hearts and thoughts of men;
From where He whispers and lingers,
Listening for those who will hear.

Quiet and hidden from eyes,
But to seers He comes into view.
First a slight rustling
In the tops of the saplings,
Out at the edges of fields.

Come away from the din and commotion,
Away from the seat of self-will.
Out to the edges where so few will venture,
From the fakes and facades at the center.

But no path through the grasses is beaten,
No dirt is laid bare from a way traveled so.
For the stuff and the dreams and the chase at the center
Keeps men from true peace
At the edges of fields.

“Come unto Me...” is the voice that is wooing,
A call that to most is but rustling of leaves.
But the wind is the Spirit,
And the saplings line the borders,
Where He waits at the edges of fields.


Gary Little
September 7, 2008