She has taken on many jobs—preparing Sunday school materials, conducting the choir, helping with the youth ministry, preparing the weekly liturgy, some janitorial work where needed, assisting with fund raising to rebuild the decayed parsonage (Project Nehemiah), assisting the pastor, etc.
“A bit daunting for a senior,” I grimaced.
“They’re for the Lord, and I enjoy doing them,” she replied with no intention of shaming her manang (older sister).
I was chastened just the same.
“So what happens to your pieces of land?” I asked. She and her late best friend, Daisy, purchased two in different areas. “You have no time left for them.”
Thirty years ago, she and Daisy planted many trees on both. Today, the branches of one mahogany tree will be used for the construction of the parsonage.
“You can’t leave lands idle—they need nurturing,” I pushed.
“Assign someone in your place,” I nagged.
“Dave has done wonders with GraNaMED [the acronym created by our parents for the land they left us. It combines our names—five siblings]."
Using his engineering savvy from two degrees, Dave personally took on GraNaMED two years ago after he retired from corporate work abroad. He has multiplied the produce, laggard for decades under two tenants. Now the land teems with life—rice, corn, all kind of vegetables, etc.
“Dave has your passion for land and the only one who makes time to develop it, hands-on. Why not leave yours to him?”
My thought balloon: The land is God’s, not ours, not even with a Title to show for it. By grand design, the land outlives us, the way it outlived Abraham and our Bible heroes to whom they were earlier bequeathed. We should, therefore, be good hands-on stewards of the land we can never own, so that it will continue to serve the generations to come.
“Decide soon,” I repeated.
Meanwhile, I will continue tilling my own land: pages of books that speak of the grace of our Master Landlord.
(My header is a photo of the corn that Dave planted on GraNaMED. It will stay current only for four days, the duration of this post.)