Roman history records the story of a general who was called from the mist of plowing his field to lead the army in war. When the war was over and the enemy vanquished the general returned to his plow, which lay exactly were he left it, and resumed plowing.
What happened to the oxen is unrecorded.
If the field is a metaphor for the soul, then I too have returned to my field. Some, especially my good friends would suggest that my field is rife with 'Bull Shit'. Of course it is! But I remind you that cow manure is a wonderful fertilizer.
As I compose these thoughts I sit with God behind our trailer in the mist of a Northern Florida Swamp. The air is alive with the sound of life. I've been reading On Walden Pond again and as I nod off at night in our small trailer, I fancy Cindy and I are living our own version of Walden. "One chair for comfort, two for companionship and three for society." We brought four chairs and indoor plumbing so I suspect I shouldn't take the analogy too far.
In sum I have returned to plow my field. To get my field ready for harvest. To mix the manure into the soil. To clear away the rocks that continually push through to the surface. To enjoy the sounds of life. I am content.
1 comment:
just don't "harvest" the field too soon.
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