No Fair-Weather Friend Here

A poem about the triumphs and tribulations a steward has to weather to bring in the fruit of the harvest.

Friend,

You asked me,” If you are a servant of the Lord, then why is it raining inside your room?”

Though, your question was presented without malice.

The enemy of my faith wheeled the question as a knife.

To slice and dice my soul.

Though, I strive to be a good Steward, of cultivating a fruitful field, to honor the Landowner 

The enemy has sneaked in by night and planted thorns and thistles in my field.

Friend,

When you praise me for being faithful by weathering through the tribulation of pestilence, floods, and droughts.

Though, your praise was not intended to mock me.

The enemy of my faith tries to hinder my sight, with a blindfold of pride.

Forgetting to give thanks to the One Who blesses my field with fertile soil, rain, sun, increase.

Friend,

Through triumph and tribulation, I harvest the fruit of the field, to present to the Land Owner Who is the Lord.

Written by Stephen J. Vattimo

April 25,2019