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Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Spoken Lesson from the Farmer: There's No Burnin' Daylight

"Okay Katie, it's time to get up.  There's No Burnin' Daylight," he used to say.

Every morning of my childhood, that's the phrase I woke up to.  
And my response?  
"Five more minutes, please."  Over and over and over again.

So here I am in my adult life and now I know what he meant. 
There really is no time to burn daylight and waste the precious day away.

Our farmer's birthday was this past Sunday, October 5th.  
If he was alive today we probably would have posed for this cheesy photo like we did so much in our younger years.

Since he has been gone, my sister and I like to discuss memories of our farmer dad and the lessons he taught us.  
This past weekend we just happened to be out west.
The Wild West: a place he always admired and wanted to live.  

I told two friends on Monday, "going west is good for my soul."
I could just breath and it was great a great feeling after another busy, hectic year.

And what did I do yesterday when I returned from that western sky?
I woke up with the sun because "there's no burnin' daylight."

I took a deep breath from the fresh, open spaces, western sky that was still in my soul and saw the beautiful sunrise.  It was glowing with bright oranges, deep reds, lavender and a hint of pink in the Monday sky.

He was with us as we headed west and when we returned back home to Indiana and in the sunrise.

 I drive from the country to the city each morning.  And almost every morning I catch myself looking to the east more than the north to see the rising sun.  The more I travel north the less I can see it, too many houses and buildings and cars in my way.  "Too busy," he would say.

While the cityscape is beautiful in it's on way, nothing compares to the countryside sunrise.  
I think of it as God's reminder of the light of a new day.  And that it's bright and we shouldn't burn it away.  
Which is just what dad taught me.

As this photo of my dad and I sits on my desk in a jar full of the last corn crop he harvested, I thank him for the light of a new day.  

I thank him for all of his unspoken lessons and spoken lessons.  
Lessons from the farmer who rose with the sun and never burned any of it away.

As we continue to celebrate his life and remember him, I will TRY to get up with the sun and watch it rise across the horizon giving thanks for him and the many blessings in my life.

No more "five more minutes" but deep breaths and the voice in the back of my head saying, 
"See, I told you not to waste it.  Cause There's No Burnin' Daylight.  
Now go watch it set and rest up for a new day." 

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