Marilyn and I had just begun dating and when her dad heard that for a few measly bucks he could put 2,000 miles between me and his daughter. It was 1965 at a youth conference in Chillicothe, Ohio, that I learned of an incredible opportunity. The speaker mentioned in passing that he was looking for a few crazy teenagers to go on a three-week cross country trek which included a weeklong hike from the rim of the Grand Canyon to the base of the breathtaking Havasu Falls.
I must’ve looked like Arnold Horshack bouncing up and down in my seat shouting, “OOO…OOO…Pick Me – Pick ME!” I didn’t have to think it over… I was up for this adventure. There was one small problem: It cost money. And I didn’t have any.
Marilyn’s dad jumped on it and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. “If you really want to go, I’d be happy to bankroll it. You just have to work it off here on the farm when you get back.”
I reported for duty at the crack of dawn the day after I returned from Colorado. I hoped to be invited in—maybe catch a glimpse of Marilyn before being mustered into my first assignment. No such luck; he met me in the driveway. Without a word he motioned for me to follow him as he quickstepped toward the barnyard and hopped up into the stock truck. “You ready for this?” he grinned, as he crammed the truck into gear.
Like something from a Rockwell painting, the two of us—the experienced farmer and the upstart kid—broke through the morning fog on our way to only he knew where. I knew not to ask. We may have talked, but I was too nervous to remember. Soon he slowed and bounced the truck across a ditch into a vast field of clover. Without a word he bailed out of the truck. I remember thinking, “Am I supposed to follow him…or?” Suddenly, he stopped and looked incredulously back at me, and I realized I was already behind. Tumbling from the truck I trotted to his side.
“See this stuff with the yellow flower on it?” he asked. Uh huh, I nodded. “That’s mustard, and I don’t want any mustard in this field. Pull anything that looks like mustard and I’ll come get you when its lunchtime.” I was still staring out across the vast sea of yellow when I heard the stock truck lumber off into the direction from whence we’d come.
I couldn’t get my head around exactly what had just happened. Slowly processing through what little data I’d been given, I began pulling mustard plants with a vengeance.
The mustard seemed to be growing faster than I could uproot it. The first hour, I would pull a few plants, then stop and look up to assess my progress. It was discouraging to say the least. It was about then I made an important decision. The only thing I could do was pull one plant at a time until he came back for me, there was no way I was going to finish this enormous project. I decided to switch my focus from completing the job to simply doing the job.
In a few hours I heard the merciful whine of the stock truck. Standing from my kneeling position, I watched as it shuddered to a stop. Leaning out the open window of the cab, with a sly grin, he asked, “You had enough mustard for one day?” I can’t tell you how grateful I was to see him.
Peter—you remember Peter, the guy who bragged that he would follow Jesus to His grave, then lied about even knowing Jesus the night He was crucified, only, to be forgiven and embraced later by the resurrected Lord? The forgiven Peter wrote this incredible formula for success:
“Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:6-7
He left a cocky sixteen year-old in that field, but he returned to a humbled farm hand. I’m old enough now to know what he knew then. In order for me to be happy and productive I had to be humbled. And I’m convinced he’s still right about that.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.