The ripened heads of wheat bend low
With seeds that will not spoil.
They know their Maker who did sow
Them into prepared soil.
Among the wheat the tares grow high -
Their prideful stalks not bending,
Stretch fruitless bodies to the sky,
Not knowing all’s soon ending.
Before long harvest brings to light
Who’s wheat and who is tare.
Then angels reap the crop that’s ripe
And gather all with care.
The wheat and those whom God has grown
Are bound for Heaven then
But what the enemy has sown
Will see God’s mercies end.
“Father, teach me to walk in Your ways.
Show me how to be fruitful for You.
My heart longs for Heaven.
I want to see those close to me there too,
But I am not wise enough to speak without Your Spirit.
Make my words Your Word.
Make my desire Your heart.
Make my heart Your home.
Let them see Jesus in me.”
(poem, pictures and prayer by Heidi Viars, 2013)