King’s Corner: Learning the Lay of the Land

Sometimes God chooses the most ordinary day to begin His greatest work.

For my father, Mark King, one such day began in December 1939.

At thirteen, Mark had recently arrived on a sheep station in the hills east of Perth, Western Australia. To Mark it was an adventure. To the stockman waiting beside two saddled horses, it was another day's work.

The older man nodded toward the spare horse.

"Come on."

That was invitation enough.

They rode quietly through the cool morning air. The horses knew the tracks. The stockman knew the country. Every so often he would pause beside a fence, study the grass, or glance toward a distant windmill before moving on. Nothing seemed hurried. Nothing seemed wasted.

By mid-morning they reached one of the station's windmills. Its blades turned steadily in the breeze, drawing cool water from deep beneath the dry Australian hills. The stockman climbed down, checked the mechanism almost without thinking, then rested one weathered hand on the timber frame as he quietly surveyed the paddock.

The older man noticed Mark watching him.

"First thing," he said quietly, "is to learn the lay of the land."

Mark looked across the paddocks.

He thought the man was talking about sheep.

Movement caught his eye.

One kangaroo stepped cautiously from the scrub.

Then another.

Soon several stood drinking from the trough, completely unconcerned by the horses or their riders. For a long moment neither man spoke. Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the kangaroos bounded effortlessly back into the bush.

"You'll get used to them," the stockman said with a smile.

Mark smiled back.

He hoped he never would.

The rest of the day unfolded much the same way. Another windmill. Another stretch of fencing. Sheep grazed across the rolling hills. The stockman seldom lectured. He answered questions when they were asked, but mostly invited Mark to discover the answers for himself.

As the afternoon wore on, Mark found himself looking where the stockman looked. A broken fence in the distance. A patch of greener grass beside a shallow gully. Fresh tracks near a waterhole. He wasn't seeing everything the older man saw.

But he was beginning to look.

Late that afternoon they turned their horses toward the homestead. The shadows stretched across the paddocks as the sun settled behind the hills, bathing the dry grass in warm shades of gold. The day's work was finished, but neither man seemed eager to hurry home. The horses found their own steady rhythm while the stockman occasionally pointed toward a line of fencing that would need attention tomorrow or a distant mob of sheep already drifting toward the night's grazing.

Back at the homestead the horses were rubbed down, watered and fed before anyone thought about themselves. Boots carrying the dust of the day were left on the veranda. Inside, a simple evening meal was already waiting. The newspaper lay folded beside the teapot, its front page filled with reports from the war in Europe. Someone mentioned the latest news. Another quietly shook his head. Before long the conversation returned to sheep, weather, and tomorrow's work. Mark scarcely glanced at the paper. His thoughts were still out on the hills.

Later, before turning in, he wandered outside one last time. The warmth of the day had given way to the coolness that settles quickly across the Australian hills after sunset. Somewhere in the darkness a sheep called. The windmill they had visited that morning was now little more than a silhouette against the distant hills.

Back home in Wyoming he knew where to find the North Star. Here, even the heavens were unfamiliar. The Southern Cross hung above the dark hills, surrounded by constellations he had never seen before. He had never imagined the stars could be different. For the first time he realized he truly was on the other side of the world.

He lingered there for a while.

Not because he understood everything.

Because he understood how much there was still to discover.

Far beyond those peaceful Australian hills, the world was already at war.

Mark gave little thought to the headlines.

God did.

Looking back now, I don't believe God brought Mark to Australia because war had begun. I believe He brought him while the door was still open. There was still time to place a wise mentor beside a curious boy. Still time to awaken wonder. Still time to enlarge his world before history would narrow it. Still time to shape a heart that would carry those lessons for the rest of his life.

I've often wondered if that's one of God's quiet ways.

He opens doors for a season. They rarely look extraordinary. More often they arrive disguised as an invitation, a place we've never been, someone with wisdom to share, or an ordinary day that slowly becomes unforgettable. We don't usually recognize them when they arrive. Only years later do we begin to see how graciously God was preparing us for chapters we could never have imagined.

I wonder if there's an invitation from God you've almost overlooked because it arrived looking like an ordinary day—the very kind of day on which He loves to begin His greatest work.

Jeff Headley is pastor of the Dayton Valley Community Church, and a storyteller who blends humor, honesty, and hope. His weekly column reflects on resilience, grace, and the surprising ways faith shows up in ordinary life.