Fifteen years ago, to the season, the two of us sat in this barn. He'd been bailing hay in the fields out back, in between appointments with MEPS. I'd been updating plats in the County Engineer's office, paperwork that left my mind way too much room to wander and worry.
We were engaged, and the knot in my stomach was much bigger than the ring on my finger.
Did he pass the physical? Did they guarantee a medical job, like the recruiter promised? When would he start? How would we get by? Could we still get married just before Christmas?
These were my questions.
(Not all. Just some.)
He told me that evening, while the summer sun still hung high enough to be hot. He told me that the medical training had been guaranteed, that he would leave in December, that I shouldn't worry.
And not because he had orders or because we had sign-on-the-dotted line proof.
But because we had red letter proof. Words of promise about provision for today.
Tomorrow will take care of itself, he reminded me.
When I look at that barn, 15 years later to the season, I see how right he was--how very many tomorrows were taken care of. And all of them, just in time.
Linking up my bigger picture moment--a glimpse of this barn over the weekend and a glimpse of His faithfulness over a lifetime.
Joining in with Emily as well, for Imperfect Prose.