Work the Field, Pray for Rain

I don’t run enough. With the amount of chips and salsa I eat, I should run more.

But when I do run, I take a couple rights and the little city streets open up into the big country.

Where houses are more spread out, driveways are gravel and fences aren’t wrought iron.

The sky feels a bit bigger and the volume a bit quieter.

I don’t run far, but it’s enough to see a horse or two, catch a deep breath of fresh air and then hope this farmer is working.

farmer

Most of the time he is.

I don’t know how old he is, but if I were a betting man, I’d say his mid-80’s.

His apparel is as predictable as his work ethic. Overalls over top of a plaid shirt.

I don’t know this man in particular, but if he’s like the farmers I’m fortunate to know in my family, he teaches me a great deal without saying a word.

Responsibility. Resourcefulness. Community. Work ethic. Sticktoitiveness. The list is endless.

But the one phrase I think of every time I see this man?

“Work the field, pray for rain.”

An author I like penned that sentence. It describes this man. Waking up every day, doing his work and trusting the rain will come.

It’s a powerful reminder on control.

Life is crazy. It’s hard, unpredictable. But incredibly worth it.

Often, I get caught up in wanting someone else’s land, being bored with my own, or worried the hard labor won’t produce fruit.

This farmer reminds me that I don’t have the power to make it rain.

What I do have is the ability to work the field, this little patch of life I’ve been given, then sit on the porch with a lemonade or cold beer and pray for the rain to come.

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