I grew up on a farm. This time of year is wheat harvest. These days, we spent as many hours as possible on combines, in wheat trucks, pulling grain carts, and socking bushel after bushel of wheat into grain elevators. Time mattered; a lot. We would tirelessly move through wheat fields in a race against time and nature.
The minutes counted because all it took to destroy a year’s worth of work and worry was one thundercloud filled with wild winds and hailstones.
Over the years, I have watched many farmers swallow back the tears and frustration of putting everything they had into a crop that never amounted to anything. And then the very next day, they would be back in the fields doing whatever it took to recover and start all over.
Farmers are patriots and fighters. Their family, flag, and faith mean everything to them. They don’t stop for lunch or dinner…they go until. They have values. They don’t wear fancy clothes or go on fancy vacations. They fancy putting in an honest day’s work instead.
So as you are joining me in practicing radical presence, the next time you go to a grocery store, put your phone down and look around. Farmers have a lot to do with those shelves being stocked with food. Don’t take that for granted. As you silently walk up and down the aisles, quietly thank a farmer.