Knee High By the 4th of July
July 8, 2026
Some of my most favorite vacation memories in might be a bit surprising to most. Those memories do not involve beaches, not mountains, not bustling cities. They had nothing to do with cruise ships or flights to the other side of the world. No special occasion or impressive holidays.
No, those very best memories involve visiting Rich’s grandparents at their home in Bloomfield, Nebraska.
It was always about the drive.
Rich’s grandparents had farmed their entire working lives before they retired to town. But retirement hadn’t diminished their love of the countryside. Every time we visited, it seemed we’d end up climbing into the car to “go see what there is to see.”
We’d drive the gravel section roads — checking the corn and soybeans, admiring the windbreaks, seeing somebody’s new irrigation system, watching the seasons unfold one field at a time.
He knew those roads better than anyone. But every so often, he’d grin, point toward an unfamiliar gravel road disappearing over a hill, and say, “I don’t think I’ve ever driven this road before.” Then, with all the excitement of a little boy setting off on an grand adventure, he’d add, “Let’s see where it goes!”
I loved that.
Here was a man who had spent his entire life in northeast Nebraska. He knew the land, the weather, and the rhythm of planting and harvest.
And yet he alwas found joy in discovering one more road.
Knee-High by the Fourth of July
Farm country has its own calendar, and one of the old sayings of summer was “knee-high by the Fourth of July.”
It wasn’t a guarantee. It wasn’t even a rule.
Rather, it was simply a hopeful way of measuring growth.
Planted in faith and cultivated with care. Watch the weather. And then...wait…and pray.
No amount of wishing or worry hurries the corn or beans because growth happens on its own timetable.
One ordinary day after another.
The Potential of Tiny Things
Jesus once pointed to something much smaller than a stalk of corn: he held up a mustard seed.
Not because it was impressive, because it certainly isn’t. Mustard seeds are tiny and easy to overlook. Yet that’s what he compared the kingdom of heaven to: a mustard seed.
“Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants.” ~ Matthew 13
What a spectacular image! But must mustard seeds don’t promise prolific growth overnight. Instead, mustard seeds reminds us that nearly everything worthwhile begins with something small and quiet.
A friendship.
A marriage.
A habit.
A prayer.
A quilt.
A life.
The beginnings are rarely dramatic, and the most important thing they require is time enough to grow.
Becoming Beginners Again
The older I get, the more I see there are two ways to age. One is to become increasingly certain that we’ve seen it all before. The other is to become increasingly curious.
Grandpa chose curiosity! The fact he hadn’t driven a particular road was what made it fun. “Let’s see where it goes!”
It’s so easy to settle into familiar routines, drive the same roads, read the same authors, watch the same movies. And then we assume we’ve already seen everything worth seeing.
But perhaps one of the gifts of Ordinary Time is that it quietly invites us to become beginners again.
To admit there are still roads we’ve never traveled. Still people we don’t fully know. Still ideas worth exploring. Still beauty just waiting to be discovered around the next bend.
Maybe growing older isn’t about knowing more roads, but about having the curiosity to wonder where they lead.
And that’s one of the quiet miracles of a well-lived life — not accumulating certainty, but cultivating curiosity!
The world has enough experts. What it needs are more people who still delight in discovery. People willing to roll down the windows, turn onto an unfamiliar road, and simply see what unfolds.
Ordinary Time
Ordinary Time isn’t simply the season of steady growth, it’s also the season of steady curiosity. Growth and curiosity belong together.
Seeds stop growing when they has nowhere left to reach, and people stop growing when there’s nowhere left they’re willing to wonder or wander.
Perhaps that’s why Jesus pointed to seeds so often? To remind us that life always stretching toward something we cannot yet see.
A Question and an Invitation
A Question: When was the last time you allowed yourself to be a beginner? To admit you didn’t know? To explore for no other reason than because you were curious?
An Invitation: This week, take a road you’ve never driven before. Walk down an aisle at the big box store where you’ve never been. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere important.
Read an unfamiliar author. Grab some seeds on clearance and plant something you’ve never grown. Strike up a conversation with someone whose story you don’t yet know.
Most of all delight in the surprise of not already having all the answers. Because perhaps the most beautiful thing about growing older (at whatever age you may happen to be) isn’t how much we know — is that there’s still another road waiting to be explored.
With you in the growing,
