Parable f r om our C h i l d h o o d W hen the nostalgia of childhood reminiscence overpowers us, the disease can often be cured only by a visit to those sacred scenes. Rosy-hued memories prepare few such pilgrims for the jolt of inevitable change wrought at the old home place. Cobwebs, rust and decay have claimed some of childhood’s choicest views. The implements with which we toiled beside our father lay as useless reminders of their former performance. And memory in swift flight from machinery to men sees yet other, sadder changes. Once radiant witnesses for Christ, some friends have become discarded, decayed, useless Christians — "has- beens.” But the worn, discarded farm machinery did not spell defeat to the farmer. With new, improved tools the seed was still being sown, water still being supplied, God still giving the increase. And in God’s harvest field of souls, the seed is planted, watered and nurtured according to His plan as new laborers enter the vineyard. The sowing and reaping is continuous, though the instru ments may change with the passing of time.
The farm and. its quiet, natural beauty — the great out-of-doors — are loved by Him who often compared its life to spiritual truth. The flowers of the field are to Him more beautiful than Solomon with his rich splendor. The farm scenes on these pages form a parable of the Christian in his success and failure.
photo essay by Marie Maniré Chapman & Donald Rutledge
THE KING'S BUSINESS
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