I see you there. Weary and worn from the 1000 ordinary things you did today. You're exhausted from the 16 hours of non stop you just walked through. You consider it a success the kids are finally tucked in and they only yelled for you four times from their bedroom asking for another story, or water, or asking what you were cooking for breakfast tomorrow.
And I know. I know the last thing you want to do is scrub those pots and pans from the supper you slaved over but they barely picked at. But plunging your hands into a sink of hot soapy water is as close as your going to get to a manicure this year so you resolve yourself to it. Besides, it beats the ironing and the mopping and the toilet scrubbing still waiting for your attention.
And I know this, too. The dishes and toilets and laundry would be so much easier to do if you weren't alone.
This season of calving and combining are our tours of duty. We become single mothers for a couple of months while they take up residence in the fields. We continue mastering the 1000 ordinaries but in his absence pick up the check book balancing and oil changes and the other 1000 ordinaries he usually does for you.
And it's not the responsibility of juggling it all. It really isn't. It's the heavy loneliness. Because we can move mountains when they are here with us, can't we? But now all we have is listening to the low roar of the bean head spinning to remind us we're in this thing together. Us and them. Partners in crime. Because farm life is criminal at times. The long hours, little pay, constant headaches of machinery breaking and calves dying. Cruel and unusual punishment for the faint of heart.
But for the farmer and his bride it's just another day in this quickly vanishing paradise. There are not many of us left, girls. Not many of us crazies are still out there trying to work a 7am-midnight shift. Not many of us willing to surrender our livelihood to mother nature and God's Providence.
And the harvest we're trying to reap is much more than corn and beans and supper on the table. It's work ethic and self sacrifice and being something bigger than yourself. It's the catalyst for the children's memories that will be made. The plot of the stories they will tell their own kids when they tuck them in. The motivation to know they can do this farm thing themselves when they are weary and worn and up to their necks in ordinary.
So I leave you with this. As your hands meet the hot soapy water and you might be wondering if it is worth it all. If you're beating yourself up because you haven't jumped in the leaves with the kids or served apple cider. If they're mad at you because you make them haul hay over taking them to the movies. Be hopeful this life we're doing is preparing their hearts for a harvest of righteousness. We can do this thing. And it will be a beautiful picture of the gospel of grace to ourselves and our kids.
And one more thing. I bet you're not the only one feeling lonely. I bet my bottom dollar he's thinking of you out there on that combine. So, let's do something wild and crazy. Let's tell the laundry 'Sayonara' and leave the dishes for in the morning. And instead, go pour him a big cup of coffee and meet him out in the field. Your hands might not be as soft, but your heart will thank you for it.
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