“Behold, I say to you, lift up your eyes and look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest!” John 4:35

It was a seven-year harvest, and we could not have known the beginning from the end. I began, steeped in dreams of publishing grandeur, a young innocent. One who never considered the path of failure, one who did not yet know the path less travelled. It was not in my creative design, and I had no inclination to broader things.

For two years I ploughed, course after course, and gave all of myself to a degree. Yet, it was not the degree of glory I had hoped for. The transformation froze abruptly, and the task was broken. It never once occurred to me that I would not finish. Failure greeted me unwelcome, and I covered my face in tears. It was a dark October’s evening.

I had spent a year, planning and writing, and it all came to nought. My fields of gold were dying, and I was fading. I did not know what God was doing. I was losing my dream.

For six months, I wrestled in my spirit. I was ready to give up. This credential failed me and all I thought it would be. It did not mean anything, anymore. But something in me would not let go of the work of my hands. One day, I awoke in the hot Arizonian desert, and knew without a doubt, God had called me back. I had to finish, one last time.

It would take twenty more months for the moment to come. I struggled but when 2016 dawned, I knew the time was at hand. It was kairos all around me, a shimmering of golden time. I felt it in my soul. The ephemeral window that opens but for awhile, and those who are blessed enough enter in. If I did not pursue a second chance now, my time would pass into eternity.

I took all prayer and courage afforded to me and finally wrote my letter, words asking for the revival of a dream, so I could set this burden free. It was the eleventh hour, and in five moments of kairos, I received my answer. God gave me my second chance.

The path set before me, a new season began to unfold. I was deeply thankful, but I began to let the days overwhelm me and all I had to do. One divine afternoon, I pulled an old sermon from the archives. It was called, “He Always Finishes What He Starts.” And it was there that the Holy Spirit gave me the verse for my final journey in Philippians 1:6: He who has begun a good work in you will bring it to completion on the day of Jesus Christ.

Timely and opportune, God knew the end from the beginning and all I had to do was encapsulated in these very words. And I felt Jesus Himself promise me that this time, I would finish. With conviction and affirmation from above, I knew things would be different and success was at the end. At the same time, I understood this to no longer be an academic journey. It was a spiritual one, and God was going to teach me many things.

The path was not easy, and many a time, I found myself fallen by the wayside, broken and tired. There were days, many days, where I had nothing left in me, and still I had to give to the people and ministries I had come to love. I was stretched, emptied, and poured out. The nights were short and long, and I wrote into my sleep. It was neverending.

But God was an ever present help in my hour of need. He granted me grace upon grace, and abundant favour with my professors. I had the best professional help, and all for free. He paid it all, for me. I knew I was in the right place, and what God had called me to, He would help me finish. I kept praying and labouring, until the light in my eyes grew dim.

April 2017. Life as I knew it, stopped. I was burnt, end to end, without a flame. The doctor’s verdict led me to extremes as I cut from the very things I knew and loved. I needed rest, deep rest. And I did not have much time left before the end. It was sobering, and I began to change.

It was a lonely, telling summer as I convalesced alone. There were so many battles to fight. But I knew one was already won. God lifted me, out of darkness into His marvellous light, as I passed from one stage to the next. Stages I’d never touched just years ago, and yet, here I was.

The bright summer’s morning of July, I awoke, ready to receive my last approval signature. The process was nearly finished. And in the bright of day, the morning devotion led me back to Philippians 1:6, where it all began. I was going back to the Press, and we had come full circle.

It was a memorable and nostalgic homecoming, and I remembered all of God’s goodness and the blessed people He had sent to help me along the way. We celebrated over a meal, and it was the most wonderful day. I stood at the place I always waited at day’s end, and thanked God for it all. The reflections stirred deep. Five years later, my time there was done.

I spent the final month reading and editing my thesis, over and over. Time was now on my side and I wanted to do all I could before letting it go. In the late afternoon light of Monday, August 29, I finally did. And I cried as my labour of love went into the world. It was finished. And I had finally come to love it.

After all these years, I found salvation in what was once lost. Jesus promised me, the second time would not be in vain, it would be done. And here I was, in a place I never thought I would be: older, wiser, and stronger in Him.

The convocation call came and I turned it down, but God had greater plans. He led me to a glimpse of it through a show that night, and I knew He wanted me there. It was the last step. I registered and my convocation number was 61, a divine reflection of Philippians 1:6. He was with me to the very end.

Thursday, October 5, 2017 was the day I graduated and received my Masters in Publishing. After seven long years, I finally came to the place God had always meant for me. It was a day out of a dream, and the sun shone like a memory. As I waited in line, I had a vision of Jesus on the cross. And it struck my very soul that if Jesus had not died on the cross, I would not be here receiving my degree. His sacrifice gave me freedom. Freedom to pursue my passions and the life I love, the world He broke into and gave to women. This was the verse, this was the day of Christ Jesus. The good work was finished, in Him.

I am ever thankful God called me back, and I am grateful for all the strength He gave me for this momentous task. His words, His help, His people, His grace, all carried me to the finish line. It was far beyond the straight-laced story I would have written, and it was a great burden and deep joy.

Truly, it was the most beautiful harvest I had ever seen.