The Farmer's Almanac on Margaret's Kitchen Table

Every March, Margaret Calloway of Boone County, Kentucky, set her worn Farmer's Almanac on the kitchen windowsill and planned her garden by the sun. She knew exactly when the light would reach the back fence, when it would warm the soil enough for tomatoes, when the longest day would coax her sunflowers to full height. She had gardened that same half-acre for forty-one years.

But what struck her grandchildren most was what she said every evening at supper. Before anyone touched a fork, Margaret would bow her head and pray, "Father of Lights, You sent the sun again today, and You did not have to." Not thank You for the food first — thank You for the light.

She understood something many of us forget. The sunrise is not automatic. It is not owed. Every morning, the same God who spoke light into existence at creation chooses to send it streaming over the hills again. James calls Him the "Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change." The Almighty does not flicker. He does not dim. He does not burn hot one day and go cold the next.

Margaret's tomatoes grew because the light was faithful. Her faith grew for the same reason. Every good gift — every warm morning, every answered prayer, every breath — comes down from a Giver who has never once wavered. The God who lit the first dawn is lighting this one too.