There once lived a man in a small town in southern Illinois. He was born, lived, and died within a 10-mile radius. He grew up on a farm, owned his own farm, and helped others farm. No doctorate degrees graced his walls, no CEO titles were ever amassed, and no massive treasure trove of jewels were hoarded during his lifetime.
But what a life he had. My father-in-law, Preston George, passed away on my birthday on May 29. As he grew older, he could no longer do the work, but each day was spent sitting in his chair at the end of the dining room table, drinking coffee and watching over the hundreds of acres behind his hillside home. When traveling, he wanted to see what the other farmers were doing, commenting on the crops, on the rain (or lack thereof), and giving his opinions about what he saw.
During my week in Illinois, a walk toward the back of the farm found me hopping between rows of young corn plants and soybean plants. I took in the views of open land, the details of the young crops pushing out of the dirt, and the peacefulness of being alone with nature—away from everyone and everything.
I have read many books about farming in previous centuries, and through the books, I have stepped into the minds of the men and women who made it their life to live off the land. It is not an easy life. It never has been.
The Life of the Farmer:
Farmers live with a constant anticipation of the possibilities.
They view a little seed and they see the value of that little kernel, knowing that a magical power lies within its shell.
They work and toil, pray and hope, and do all they know to make sure that seed meets its potential.
If they are lucky, they see the results of their work.
Truth #1 that came from my walk: Even non-farmers can farm.
We can live with an anticipation of the possibilities of the people and friendships before us.
We can view the magical power lying within others and within relationships.
We can decide to toil and work, planting little sparks of hope and encouragement and joy within those around us.
Those little sparks can be encouraging smiles, words, texts, calls, or hugs.
We can tell people we love them, tell them we need them, tell them their value.
We can remind others of their potential, allowing them to break the shell open and thrive.
We can pray and hope, work and toil, spend time and energy and love.
We can help others find the sunlight and discover their inner power.
Truth #2: For these “non-farming farmers,” we rarely see the harvest.
For those of us who are “farming” in lives,
We cannot walk down the rows, we cannot step over the crops, and we often do not even know the impact of those we have touched.
There is no harvest season for most of our “farming” efforts.
The only way we know of our impact is if others tell us.
Ironically, many only see the physical results of this harvest at a funeral when the “farmer” is no longer alive to see it.
My walk made me ask if we would love more, encourage more, and spend more on others if we could inspect the crops?
If we could see and reflect on the results of our labor?
If we could sit at the end of the table each day and see the growth, would we work harder?
Truth #3: Farmers know the importance of planting the right seeds.
Farmers know their seeds and crops. That is why you won’t see rice growing in west Texas or cotton growing in New York.
The corn in Texas does not come from the same exact seed as that in Illinois.
For this non-farming farmer, that walk made me ask myself what seeds I was planting.
Seeds of joy?
Seeds of resentment?
Seeds of love?
Seeds of judgment?
Planting the wrong seeds will lead to poor harvest.
(And a very unhappy farmer in the long run.)
Truth #4: Farmers understand negative results and don’t blame themselves.
It is possible to do our very best, to plant those seeds of hope, and still see no results AT ALL.
To pour our hearts into others, to serve them, to love them,
And still be discouraged by the lack of return.
This is not the fault of the farmer or “farmer.”
As Jesus said in his parable in Matthew 13, it may be because of birds or external predators who interfere.
It may be because of the hard or rocky soil of past traumas and hurts.
It may be because of the weeds of life that block out the encouragement.
Rather than feel the self-blame creeping in, a true farmer often knows that a poor harvest does not necessarily mean he did something wrong.
Instead, it might be due to the absence of rain,
the overabundance of heat,
the lack of sunshine,
the locusts,
or the many other catastrophic causes of few returns.
Perhaps we “farmers” can learn from the farmers and not give up.
Finally, as Jesus said in his parable, “But some of the seed fell on good ground. There it grew and made grain. Some plants made 100 times more grain, some 60 times more, and some 30 times more” (Matthew 13:8-9, NLT).
In reflecting on the community that came together for my father-in-law’s visitation and funeral, I was once again reminded that the measure of a life is not based on awards and treasure coffers.
This is the purpose of life:
Planting seeds of love and encouragement in others.
Regardless of results, regardless of a transparent harvest,
Regardless of the heavy work and toil, the sweat and tears, and the many prayers that seem unanswered,
The harvest is the result of planting seeds carefully in those whose lives intersect with others.
My husband and father-in-law farmed.
My mother farmed. My grandparents farmed.
For most of us, we may not own hundreds of acres of physical land or fancy tractors and harvesters.
But all of us can “farm.”
I am getting on my overalls and boots and hat—
Ready to plant more seeds and trust that the harvest will come.
