I have been in the American Midwest recently where the earth is flat, fertile, and often furrowed. Rows of corn and green acres of soybeans capet the checkerboard land, often as far as eye can see. Irrigation pumps spray water in arcs over fields in the afternoons. Fingers of hardwood stands and small copses hold deer that emerge at dusk and before dawn. As the sun arises, silos and barns could serve as sextants to measure one’s place since all else seems stillness.

I was able to minister to fellow soldiers and even reconnect with some peers from my education side of the house. We ate supper and chatted about how we all came to ministry. I loved hearing their stories. One of the overlapping themes was how the Spirit moved upon each person, alerting her or him to the needs that were all around. It just took eyes to see. And God granted eyes to see as well as the heart, mind, and hands to do the labor to which each was called.

One story was of how she started a soup kitchen in her own community for the needy. With what did she start? A conviction from God, the gift of faith, and a willing spirit. She picked up the phone. She coordinated with her local sheriff’s office. She prayed. Soon churches were reaching out and helping coordinate. For years, she did this ministry. And God sent the people–those in need and those who volunteered and served.

Another story was of how she saw a prisoner reading Our Daily Bread and struck up a conversation with the inmate. Soon, other prisoners overheard their conversation and joined in. Why? Because she had cared enough to reach out in faith and goodwill. And the Lord blessed that spirit. Soon she had more education and eventually became a chaplain to prisoners.

The stories continued. I listened. And tried to learn from the stories.

To learn that God allows particular people to see amidst the sameness. What most folks might miss, some are given eyes to see. How? I think it is by the sovereign work of God. It’s not a humanistic accomplishment.

I was encouraged. Again. To pay attention. To attend. To be faithful to one’s calling and hone one’s gifts in service of the truth and for people. God honors that. He is glorified by how we treat the least of these–the invisible, the downtrodden, the straying, the hopeless, the rejected, fellow sinners.

The fields of Indiana and Iowa stretch on and on and on. And if you don’t pay attention, one stalk of corn may appear no different from another. But if you pay attention, if you walk in the field, if you smell the soybeans in the morning when the mist hangs motionless as the first rays of sun slice the motes, you see things, beautiful and broken things, things in need of shepherding and stewarding, and someone to care enough to labor. The harvest only comes much later.