One of the major industries in our area of Pennsylvania is the Case-New Holland plant, right in New Holland. If you’ve ever driven by on Route 23, you know exactly what I mean—massive tractors, balers, cultivators, all brand new and gleaming like trophies, proudly parked out front for the world to see. It’s great advertising. You don’t have to be a farmer to feel awed by their sheer size. Those machines are no joke.

Being the son of a farm boy, I suppose I inherited a bit of a fascination with farm equipment. My dad knew makes and models like some guys quote baseball stats. And while my mastery of all things tractor is much more modest, that interest has been revived and deepened since moving to Lancaster County. Around here, you can’t drive more than a mile without seeing a field being worked or a tractor lumbering down the road. And so, spotting them has even become a bit of a road trip hobby for Pam and me (well, mostly me).

And here’s the funny thing—now that I’m looking for New Holland equipment, I see it everywhere.

Even in Nepal.

This spring, Pam and I were serving in Nepal, and as we flew into the small regional airport in Nepalgunj, we both did a double take. There, hauling luggage across the tarmac, was a bright blue New Holland tractor. Seriously. How in the world did that thing make it 7,500 miles across the globe to end up pulling baggage carts in South Asia?

And then just this past weekend, Pam and I traveled to Manassas, Virginia, where I had the privilege of officiating the wedding of a good friend, Jeff McCormack. Jeff tragically lost his wife during COVID—a devastating chapter in his life. But now, with this wedding, we got to witness a new chapter: joy, restoration, and hope. A beautiful reminder that God is still writing stories, even after deep sorrow.

The whole weekend was a trip down memory lane. Pam and I lived and served in that area for 18 years. We stayed near the Manassas Battlefield, an expansive 5,000-acre national park surrounded by suburbia, meticulously preserved to resemble its 1860s appearance. I used to walk there often—over the 40 miles of trails winding through woods, fields, and creeks. One five-mile loop in particular became a favorite. I’ve walked it at least a dozen times. Each time, I’m struck by how the noise of I-66 and suburbia fades until all that’s left is singing birds, rustling leaves, and the occasional deer.

Early Saturday morning, before the heat set in, I slipped out of the hotel room and headed out on that familiar five-mile loop. Near the end of the trail, in the middle of a hayfield, sits an old 19th-century farm shed. I’ve passed it many times. Our family even had a picnic nearby once. It’s always held the same lineup of dusty farm equipment that the park service uses to hay the fields.

But this time—I noticed.

Parked inside was a familiar array of older haying equipment: a mower, a conditioner, a rake, and a baler. It’s the same stuff that’s been there for years. But this time, it caught my eye. It was New Holland!

I had walked by that shed many times before, but now, because I was looking for it, I recognize and truly saw it.

And I think that’s exactly how it is with God.

His goodness, faithfulness, and presence surround us. Not as rare events or occasional interruptions—but as daily realities, woven into ordinary life. He’s there in the encouragement of a friend, the beauty of a sunrise, the restoration of a broken story, even in the quiet whisper of peace when things don’t make sense. From your time of personal devotion in the morning to your whispered prayers at night, God is present and working.

But until our eyes are tuned to recognize His work, we’ll walk right past it and never know it.

Psalm 111:2 says, “Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them.” That word—pondered—carries weight. It’s not casual observation; it’s intentional reflection. It’s learning to trace God’s fingerprints on the canvas of everyday life.

The more we delight in God, the more we will notice Him. In conversations. In creation. In His word. In small nudges of the Spirit. In moments we would’ve otherwise called coincidence.

God isn’t hiding. His works aren’t occasional. But they are easy to miss if we don’t slow down and look.

Like farm equipment in a forgotten shed or a tractor halfway across the world—His activity is right there, waiting to be seen by those who delight in Him.

So maybe the question isn’t whether God is working.

Maybe the question is: Are we noticing?

Because when you start looking—really looking—you’ll see Him everywhere.

He’s been there the whole time.