On Ann’s Husband—A Revolutionary Indeed
written by Seth Haines:
While we were sharing the meal with Ann, Barry poured out good stories about a piece of Arkansas farm land that is being cultivated for those who are less fortunate. He told her that the farm would produce ten-thousand pounds of produce that would be donated to local shelters, the ones for the homeless and battered women. He told her of the Cobblestone Project and its founders. He was an apologist for the marginalized, and he was ultimately believable. His passion was unrelenting, and I think he could have told the story as long as he could have ridden a tractor—from dusk until dawn.
And Ann, with all the grace and sincerity that a woman can ever hope to attain, said “this place is where the Revolutionaries live.” To some degree, she is right.
After dinner, Barry and his wife left, and the rest of us sat in the living room in the rock house. Mark, Holley, Amber, and I listened as Ann told us about the good things in Canada. She weaved magic into the spring and summer, the months when her husband and the farming community do outside-work from dark to dark. She told us of the three family meals, and the thanks and scripture readings that her husband coupled with each. She talked about organic, on-the-spot prayers offered by him when waking hours threaten to fall into chaos. She wove magic and grace into nightly rituals that shunned pretext, moving straight into the heart of God. She glowed as she told of his taking care of the animals, his husbandry. He had given her reason to love well, and she wore it as tangibly as any other garment of praise.
She spoke of him, a man after God’s own heart. Then, she left the rock house with a prayer of grace and peace.
I lay that night, sleeplessly in bed, remembering Ann’s comments about the revolutionaries. I thought of her husband, how his life affects hers, pours from her pen. And then I thought it—maybe he is the revolutionary, the one that asks me to follow his quiet example in leading my family in organic faith.
I think I can learn from him, what little I know. Maybe one day, when the rooftops blaze with the fires of the coming new earth, maybe our families—Barry’s, Mark’s, his, and mine—can stand side-by-side. We can raise our hands and shout “viva la revolucion,” knowing that our hearts were made ready by our living and loving well.
And our arms will waive like burning branches in the new wind.