Withered Fields
The fields of Heshbon wither, the vines of Sibmah also. The rulers of the nations have trampled down the choicest vines, which once reached Jazer and spread toward the desert. Their shoots spread out and went as far as the sea.
Isaiah 16:8 (NIV)
Isaiah weeps for Moab: Heshbon's fields wither, Sibmah's vines, once reaching Jazer and the desert, trampled by rulers. Gratitude on withered ground learns weeping with weepers. Prophets never celebrate others' ruins; they lament. Enemy harvests ache God's heart too. Compassion chooses no flag.
The choicest vines trampled: past prosperity turned present trampling. Moab trusted vineyards; vineyards became footprints. Wise gratitude anchors not in crops but in the Lord of crops. Fields wither, God remains. Whoever thanks the Fountain survives the faucet's drought. Deep roots laugh at withered leaves.
Their shoots reaching the sea: expansion seeming eternal collapsed in days. Vineyard empires fall like sword empires. Gratitude counting blessings without owning blessings sleeps calmly in every season. Whatever stretches may shrink; only mercy stretches never returning void.
Today, lament hopefully: weep over withered fields — yours and others' — but plant thanking. Water with tears and harvest with songs, the psalm promises. Seasons change; the Farmer never. Trampled vines regrow under thanking, obeying hands. Your Heshbon will bloom again.
And weep gratefully: withered fields watered gratefully regrow. Weep gratefully today. Withered fields regrow. Lament hopefully. Plant thanks. Reap songs. Trust Farmer. Weep and plant.