The Parable of the Farmer and the Fire
Once upon a modern-day morning in a town not too far from yours, there lived an old farmer named Hank. Hank wasn’t the kind of man you’d find on magazine covers or speaking at conferences. He didn’t have a million followers or a fancy app to track his chickens. But what Hank did have was a deep well of wisdom, a heart full of stories, and a memory etched with both scars and miracles.
Now Hank had lived on that farm his whole life. It wasn’t much to look at—just a modest house, a red barn leaning a little too far left, and about twenty acres of soil that had known both flood and drought. But ask Hank about it, and he’d grin through his whiskers and say, “She’s been good to me. The Lord’s been even better.”
Every morning, Hank would stand on his porch with a coffee cup in hand, look out over his fields, and whisper, “All my life You have been faithful…” It was his way of saying thank You—like signing a love letter back to Heaven.
But not everyone saw it that way.
The Fire Comes
One hot July afternoon, the sky turned an ominous gray. Wind whipped through the tall grass like it was looking for trouble, and before anyone could shout “lightning,” the horizon lit up with flames. A wildfire sparked just a few miles off and spread like bad gossip in a small town.
Folks ran. Sirens screamed. Fields crackled and smoke painted the sky black.
Hank’s neighbors evacuated. But Hank? He just grabbed his old truck, filled it with buckets, hoses, and a Bible that had seen better days, and started soaking everything he could.
“Why aren’t you leaving, Hank?!” a young firefighter shouted through the roar of the wind.
Hank just smiled and said, “Son, I’ve walked this field with God in rain and in drought, in laughter and in loss. I ain’t about to stop now. The goodness of God don’t disappear when the fire shows up.”
The Ashes and the Answer
The fire scorched everything. When the smoke cleared the next day, Hank’s farmhouse was still standing—barely—but the barn was gone, the crops were dust, and the fields were silent.
His neighbors gathered around, expecting Hank to be heartbroken. And in truth, he was. He stood quietly in the field, ashes clinging to his boots like memories of what once was.
But then Hank knelt down, picked up a handful of scorched earth, and whispered, “Still… all my life You have been so, so good.”
One neighbor, a skeptical businessman named Cole, couldn’t take it anymore.
“Hank,” he said, “how can you call this good? You lost everything! Where’s your God in this?”
Hank stood slowly, looked Cole in the eye, and said, “You’re looking at Him.”
Cole blinked.
“The goodness of God ain’t about the things I lost,” Hank continued. “It’s about the One who never left. That fire tested my land—but it revealed my foundation. And my friend, I ain’t built on barns or bushels. I’m built on grace.”
The Seed Beneath the Ashes
Months passed. The news forgot about the fire. But Hank? He didn’t just rebuild—he replanted. And something strange happened. That burned field? It bloomed. Wildflowers and wheat grew stronger than before.
You see, fire has a way of refining things. Burning away the shallow to reveal the deep. And in the ashes, God planted something beautiful. A new harvest, deeper faith, and a testimony that shook even Cole to his core.
One day, as they stood watching the golden fields sway in the breeze, Cole said quietly, “You were right, Hank. He really is good.”
And Hank, coffee in hand, eyes twinkling, replied, “Son, His goodness is not measured by what He gives—it’s revealed by who He is. And He’s always good.”
The Moral of the Story
God’s goodness isn’t defined by how smooth our road is, how green our fields are, or how high our barns stand. His goodness is that He walks with us through the fire, sings over us in the storm, and carries us when we can’t go another step.
Even when everything burns, His goodness still blooms.
Bible Verse
Psalm 23:6 (ESV) — “Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
And now you know… the rest of the parable.
Amen.
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