A farmer hoes a row of dirt and a neighboring laborer hoes his row and they toil under the sun and the sweat of their brow mixes soiled soil into muddy mess. They labor, a labor of love as they work their row.
These loving laborers selected their plots not. The farmers till soil simply out of trust, the loving laborers were just trusting tillers. For the Master Farmer had determined their row long ago.
And the loving laborers labored on in love and tilled for they trusted.
As the sun was set to set upon their rows and they had laid their final labor into the loved land both farmers wiped the final drop of sweat off their brow and the hoe was laid to final rest.
And after the long day of life the farmers stepped back to examine their land, their soil that had breathed life through their toil.
One farmer espied his loved land with lines hoed to perfection and toiled soil beautiful, budding with immaculate growth. For this farmer had hoed a row of farming perfection.
The other farmer, the poor old soul, dropped to his knees aghast, despair flooded his body and confusion clouded his mind. For the land which had absorbed his labors of love was fitfully afright! No lines of perfection such as his neighborly neighbor! No toiled soil beautiful just a muddy mess with only the slightest hint of life.
Oh, what a sad sight our second laborer was and surely he would have sunk under, sunk into utter ruin if not for the Master Farmer. For Master Farmer saw beyond appearance of perfect lines and tidy rows and Master Farmer joyously congratulated BOTH farmers.
"Well done good and faithful farmers," He gently declared. "Well done."
Our sad and sunken so low secondary farmer hesitantly asked Master Farmer, "Begging Your pardon kind Sir, but my rows are afright and my soil is but alas ~ just a muddy mess! I have surely labored in love and yet, I have not hoed You a tidy row but just a chaotic mess. A slight sign of life is all I have amassed. Well done? I do not see how You say that of me?"
Master Farmer with love and laughter dancing through His kind eyes simply said, "Rocks. Many rocks."
~
Preacher man said on Sunday ~ some have been assigned to hoe the rows filled with many rocks.
But, not to worry, He knows the soil He gave us to toil. He knows. And under the burning sun He sees the laborers of love who toil amongst the rocks. Lines are rarely tidy and hands are always dirty and face is layered in soil as farmers lament over the rocks that lay in their path.
But, Master Farmer sees.
The XO leaned over at preacher man's words with a telling smile, "See, He sees the rocks He placed in our soil." With a quick wink and then eyes back to center straight, the XO knows all to well the rocks that lay in our row to be hoed.
Many a moment I feel lost amongst the rocks in my row. The labor of love feels in vain, and the laboring is so lonely. For other farmers have not yet seen rocks such as mine.
But, yesterday preacher man and the XO reminded me of Master Farmer that laid the plot of my land once upon a time ago at the foundation of time. Master Farmer, He knows my rocks, He knows the row I hoe. And that is enough.
It is enough.
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