LOOKING PAST THE DIRT

I grew up on Canada's East coast, where laws strictly govern the state of your windshield when driving. The main concern there, of course, is snow in winter months. Occasionally, some concern arises from a severely cracked windshield.

In the spring, when mud is everywhere, it is not uncommon for rear windows to look like peepholes. Numerous Jeep-style vehicles may even be coated from tip to tip in mud, as mud bogging is the sport of rednecks of all ages, shapes and sizes.

 

Since moving to one of Canada's prairie provinces, I have become acquainted with a new kind of obstructed windshield: it's dust-covered. No moisture is required for the dust to stick - it just does. A full week between windshield washes is unheard of in the heat of summer, as the dust buildup is exceeded only by the volume of dead insects accumulated.

Road dust here is used for some pretty creative graffiti. Although I haven't yet experienced a butt print as pictured below, I have been the victim of any number of words, phrases, names, gestures and genitalia.

Pulling up to the pumps at the local full-serve station this weekend, I was greeted by the usual litany of questions:

"Are we filling it today?"

"Yes please - with regular."

"Sure thing! You wanna roll your windows up and we'll give 'em a little swipe for ya?"

Now, I know this lady fairly well. She once covered my Timmies order when the zipper on my wallet refused to move, holding my money hostage, citing the fact that she knew I would come good for it. I know that she only hires students who participate in sports teams, because she believes in work ethic. So I thought I'd slip in a little humor.

"Listen," I responded, "as a middle-aged woman who may *actually* die of heat stroke, I'm willing to look past the dirt if you are!"

We both chuckled, but my heart was instantly awakened to my own words. "I'm willing to look past the dirt ..."

Isn't it funny how willing we are to do something physically demanding, but struggle to do the same emotional task? 

I can live with peering at the beautiful scenery through a layer of dirt. Pass a person in front of me who has hurt my feelings or made poor choices in life, though. Am I still looking past the deposits of debris to see their beauty?

I will sacrifice vision for comfort, when I am actually called to do just the opposite! We are all called to step out of our comfort zones before we can truly follow the road before us. 

I am tired of gathering dust and merely looking past it. I am going for the clearer vision of life. I know that I will lose some "graffiti" in the process: some drawn on my life by skilled hands, and other trashy pieces deposited on me at random. But when the view is clear, I can see the best in myself, in others, and in the days/years to come. 

Join me in cleaning the windshield this week! Leave a comment below to share what the idea of looking past the dirt has meant to you. 

DEAR FARMER

Dear Farmer,

You and I work at opposite ends of the ag industry: I work in Ag Manufacturing, where we build the equipment you use.

My husband works in the Shipping Department. With skilled hands he pressures up hydraulics, torques tires, and fastens safety chains. He marks shipping pins, touches up paint, takes pictures of pieces often claimed through Warranty, and reads the riot act to truck drivers who feel the need for speed. He is proud of his work - and scared of the Warranty Administrator. That's me.

I review the Pre-Delivery Inspection performed by your dealership. I compare it against in-house reports and photographs taken during testing and shipping of your machinery. I approve or deny the claims, based on whether we screwed up or it was damaged in transit.

And then the machinery is delivered to you: the farmer. You walk around a machine worth nearly a half-million dollars and, with eagle eyes, you look for everything from leaking hoses to rust spots and missing decals. Within 6 short weeks, you will know this machine inside out: its capabilities and limits, its quirks and strengths and weaknesses, and why we claim to build the brand that produce the best crops.

What you probably don't know is that, as you become an expert on our machinery, I am learning from you.

I learn about the long hours you put in from the voice mails on my phone and the tired voices of our Service crew. I learn about all the elements beyond your control by following your social media accounts. I learn about the hazards of your job from the news, and I weep when a life is lost on your family's farm. I am continuously learning from you, and continuously praying for you.

I wave to every farmer in the cab of a tractor: whether in the field or on the road. And I pray for your safety and prosperity. I drive past you slowly, and often in tears. I see you.

I listen to news broadcasts and weather forecasts and lunchroom chatter. And I pray for sunshine and rain and wind and snowy winters - but not excessive amounts. I remind God to send just what you need and no more ... like He needs my instruction!

I sign petitions so that family farms do not fall under the same labor laws as other employers. I get righteously indignant at city slickers who think all tragic accidents are avoidable. I smile at teenage boys who rip out of school parking lots because they can't wait to be in a tractor.

I question dealerships about why they didn't repair your machinery in a timely manner. I challenge our QA team to step up their game. I sit in meetings to explain why spending less money in Warranty isn't as easy as saying "No." I deal in shades of gray when it's not really Warranty but it's the right thing to do. And sometimes I say "No" and hold my breath while waiting to see who's going to challenge me: you or your dealership.

I shake your hand when you come to meet with our Executives and talk about how to improve our product. I smile when I see you critique our engineers during an open house event - because you are the true expert in the field. I am so proud when you give us a verbal acknowledgement or a great review on social media! Because you are helping us work toward excellence. You recognize that we're trying hard to be the customer's best choice.

As we move through another seeding season, I would like to thank you for who you are and what you do. Thank you for your patience: with your livestock, the crops, your hired hands, your dealership, and your manufacturers. Thank you for your eye for detail, your nurturing spirit, your common sense approach to life, and your never-say-die character. Thank you for the years of study, the years of experience, and the dedication to the ag lifestyle. Thank you for eating in the field so that your field will feed us.

May you live long and prosper. May your crops keep growing and your equipment keep going. May your family enjoy health and your efforts yield wealth. May the gophers die and the corn stalks stretch high.

God bless you, Farmer.


Sincerely,

A Villager

WORM WOUNDS

Each morning as we leave our home, I admire the beauty of our property. The huge, decades-old, leafy poplars that flank the east and south sides of our home are host to many songbirds who begin and end our days with joyful sounds.

On the western edge of our property, which is the street-facing side, are about 9 young saplings nobody planted. Really - nobody. When the first one sprung up out of the cinder block, we assumed it was an alder bush...so we weed-whacked it. Two years in a row. And then it began to grow for spite; the tree is now taller than I am, in the center of 8 mini-mysteries just like it.

As I behold our property, shrouded in shade, I am deeply grateful for divine favor. You see, we live in a prairie region which is currently enduring its second year of infestation with tent caterpillars. These worms are offensive to both the eyes and ears, and they devour trees. Well, not the trees exactly ... but all their leaves. Much of our neighborhood has been stripped bare by these pests.

Next door to us is an elementary school, where my kindergartener enjoys spending time on the playground equipment. Sitting there with him this weekend, I noticed the unusual condition of the schoolyard trees. 

My husband has taken great care to band our trees with carboard, duct tape and chainsaw oil. This has prevented the dreaded tent caterpillars from climbing and feasting on our trees; however, no such care has been given to the schoolyard poplars. Defenseless, they have become patchy with what I like to call "worm wounds."

"Worm wounds" are bald spots in a tree which testify to the evidence of pests being present. Sure, some branches are still leafy enough to house a home for a pair of hummingbirds or a family of robins. Other branches, though, are like a window to the heart of the tree - its trunk, which is clearly visible, exposed for temporary lack of the standard leafy veil.

That's the key. These worm wounds are, in fact, temporary. I witnessed these trees last July, stripped as naked as though it were mid-December. I also witnessed them blossom in spring, and I see their branches - even in their current state of duress - attempting to bud after each fresh rainfall.

I am humbled as I observe nature reflect my life. There are "worm wounds" in my story which seem to strip parts of me naked and raw with each season of newness and growth. They leave my core exposed: afraid that my past will thunder into my present, that the scorching rejection of yesteryear will char my very soul, and that I will never be complete in my purpose. What if I'm never more than blotched?

As clear as the call of the pigeon from the school rooftop, I hear it. The whisper to my soul from its Creator: "To every thing, there is a season." There is a time for feeling a little naked and on display; there is also a time the soul-sucking worms move on. The key is to keep bending with the breeze, soaking up the sun, and welcoming the rain.

The trees do not refuse the birds a nesting place simply because they are momentarily less bountiful. Rather, they allow the birds to build and turn those exposed areas into arenas for amplified, unfiltered music. Robins, hummingbirds, sparrows and finches - all project their voices to fill the world with song.

Oh, that my heart would do the same! Focus on the thriving branches of life! Become a shelter for others -  a strong, safe place from which to sing their songs. Unafraid of those who may injure hearts but cannot destroy the soul. Realizing that no season lasts forever, and those who sing with joy, are capable of eliminating any worms who attack. 

THE PERFECT STORM

We're experiencing the perfect storm on the prairies today. A travel-advisory, slippery, white-out conditions, old-fashioned blizzard. And if I were honest, I would tell you this has been the most soul-soothing day I have experienced in some time.

I grew up in the back woods of Canada's east coast. Driving winding country roads, hiking forest trails, swimming at the base of waterfalls and drinking from babbling brooks were integral parts of my childhood and teen years.

Early in my marriage and motherhood years, I moved to another province. Although time in the forest was less available, I spent more time on the shores of the ocean. The sound of the waves, the smell of the salt, the feel of warm sand, and the sight of sunrise/sunset over the endless motion of the waves? Well, this became my "thing" - my rescue when my soul craved peace and healing.

Moving to the prairies was a huge adventure, and at first was the change we needed. Over the past year, though, I have begun to struggle. There is neither forest nor ocean, and my line of work means summer is my busy season. There is no time for the soul food offered by being in nature. I'm drowning in thin air.

Until yesterday. In the middle of winter. In the middle of a closed-door, boardroom training session. There was a knock, news of being sent home early -  a blizzard making roada a safety risk. A nerve-wracking drive to a neighboring town to pick up our youngest from school. And then?

Wind. Glorious, rushing wind! The kind of wind that doesn't gust in quick bursts - rather, it howls up the length of the street. From any seat or bed on the north side of our home, an incoming wind "gust" sounds exactly like an incomimg tidal wave. I can close my eyes in our ocean-themed, northside bedroom and imagine I'm riding a wave. So soothing!

It has been a haunting 10 days of memories from the past. Our family has been contacted by people whose very names add an element of stress to any conversation. Some of it may be an answer to prayer: there are always hard roads to walk between hurt and healing. Knowing the wind and water have always been a salve to my soul, the Maker has sent me a perfect storm.

I have spent today reading, sipping coffee and snuggling my littlest person. Outside the window, the town is basically a sea of white. A windswept sea. A storm designed for me. I am so blessed!