Note: On Saturdays, you can find me at Your Daily Tripod, owned by my friend TonyD. A longer version of the post below appears there.
There are harvests, and then there are harvests.
The independent small farmers who remain in this country are among its biggest gamblers. Even with crop insurance, it’s a dicey business. An early frost, a tornado, record-setting rain might be bearable one year or even two for some, but not much more than that.
If it’s not a calling, there’s little financial reason to stick with an independent small farm. You’d probably do better by moving into town and taking up a more predictable line of work. The small farmers I’ve known keep farming because they can’t imagine anything better than planting in the spring, caring for the crops in the summer, and harvesting in the fall. Call it romantic, because it is. Call it mystical, because it is.
You may not have 160 acres of wheat or a backyard strawberry patch or hanging plants on your balcony. Yet you are called to labor in the field just the same. Maybe the work you do within your family or among your coworkers or within your ministry will seem to be a failure. Maybe there will continue to be physical and spiritual poverty within your world. Maybe it will seem your labor has changed nothing. But believe me, it has—already. You answered the call to be a laborer, and the quantity, quality, and visibility of the harvest was not part of the deal. But you kept on working in God’s name nonetheless, obedient and faithful. Call it romantic, because it is. Call it mystical, because it is.
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