The Corn Moon rose this weekend, quiet, golden, and full. It’s the last full moon of summer, named by early farmers and Native American tribes for the ripening of corn and the nearing of harvest. I didn’t catch a photo on its official night. Life was moving fast, and the sky was hidden. But early this morning, Monday, September 9th, I stepped outside and caught it, just past its peak, still glowing above the Georgia horizon. And even then, it felt like it was asking something gentle, something sacred:
What in my life is ready to be gathered?
In Leviticus 23, the Feast of Ingathering marked the end of harvest, a time to bring in the fullness of the land and offer it back to God. Not just the first fruits, but the overflow. The part that says, You’ve been faithful, Lord—and so have I.
This moon doesn’t shout. It doesn’t demand. It simply hangs there, full and quiet.
Jesus said, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.” (Matthew 9:37)
Maybe this Corn Moon is a reminder that the harvest isn’t just out there, it’s in here. In our hearts. In our homes. In the quiet work we’ve done when no one was watching.
So today, I’m not rushing to the next thing. I’m gathering. I’m giving thanks. And I’m asking:
Until next time, keep looking up!
-g