Farming Peace

“Everyone loves a little wordplay,” Jack thought as he smacked his hoe against the hard Illinois clay. The sound it made was almost like metal on rock. The way this dirt got wet, dried, and hardened up again made it less like ground and more like a sheet of drywall. Each swing made his back ache. These weeds were literally cemented in.

Earlier that day, he had been in the hardware store talking with the owner about how farming is akin to marriage. If you don’t prepare the soil, nurture the seedling, manage the weeds that creep in, and monitor the amount of rain and light, you’re not gonna have a crop. How similar was all of that to taking care of a spouse? What Jack had said made the man laugh. He had mused, “My little garden plot is filling up with weeds. If I’m not careful, it’ll get thicker than the plot of a Hallmark movie!”

His wife always watched those, especially around Christmastime. Jack never could find the appeal. Each one had the same story, just with different people. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl likes boy, boy makes a mistake, boy makes up for it, they share a kiss, roll credits. He always felt like anyone could write one of those stories. He certainly had plenty of fodder for a few of those movies with the mistakes he’d been making with his wife lately, working until all hours, making plans with the kids only to break them when something came up on the farm. It seemed like all he knew how to do was disappoint his family on a regular basis.

They had certainly gotten into it, too, angry outbursts that led to a cold shoulder turned toward one another at night after the lights were out. Harsh words and name‐calling had become commonplace. How was it that Jill knew just what to say to cut him off at the ankles? Every truth she rattled off made him feel smaller and smaller, less like a man and more like a rat.

He dug the hoe down again, making another attempt to uproot a thistle. How he hated those. Nasty little barbs dug right into your skin. If you tried to pull them by hand, they often broke off rather than releasing themselves cleanly from the dirt. So you knew that awful root was staying down there, ready to give birth to a new thorny shoot.

So many times he wished he could handle situations differently. Take back the unkind words. Remind Jill he loved her and the kids. He could be so absentminded, forget plans, get his priorities out of whack. But these were just empty excuses. He had to show her that he could change.

It seemed daunting, but just like in the spring when he first started this garden, he could start fresh tomorrow. He could sow kindness like he sowed the green beans in this ground. He could plant love just like he planted the flowers around the garden’s border. He could cultivate peace just like he turned up the soil to put these vegetable seeds in, in the first place. “Sometimes it really is just mind over matter,” he thought.

Tomorrow was a new day. The sun would rise and shine down its glow on whatever it found that needed to grow.

Jack chuckled. “That’s certainly me. I definitely need to grow. I suppose if I want to see change, I better start with myself.” He lifted his ball cap, scratched his head, repositioned the hat, and walked toward the barn. “Better hang this up for the night and go see if I can help Jill with dinner.”

“For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there is disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peace-loving, gentle, compliant, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without pretense.  And the fruit of righteousness  is sown in peace by those who cultivate peace.”

‭‭James‬ ‭3‬:‭16‬-‭18‬ ‭CSB‬‬