When This Day is Done

I walk out the back door. The smell of wood smoke permeates the fog that hugs the earth like cotton stuck to wet fingers. A few days ago the lawn looked like a garish 1960ish shag green carpet laden with with gruesome glumps of gold patches.

Some people see days without the sunshine as dark and dreary. I, on the other hand, tend to view these days that smell like a primitive settlement, as a primeval adventure. Or, perhaps with an element of--Sherlock Holmes mystery--mystery about them.

The sun is finally shining again, its golden light filling the world. What riches we posses and we seem to be unaware of. The grass still reminds me of a shag carpet, but the leaves, instead of gold are a salmon colored brown, and they have broken down a bit into lesser glumps.

"Isn't that depressing?" a friend is relating an episode in which city folks were viewing a farmer's field. "All that corn just rotting in the field!" the city folks said.

You see, the way with farming is, in the spring you plant the corn, it grows tall and green--the ears of corn grow and ripen. In the fall the stalks of corn and the leaves all turn brown, but the corn is glorious gold in its brown sheath.
When I was young, my grandpa and I would walk beside the 'wagon' and 'pick the corn' by hand. We had a pair of common draft horses, not fancy ones like Percherons, or Belgians, just common ones. The first team I remember was an old black stallion named "Dick" and an old grey mare named "Nellie".
Grandpa would always pick at least two rows to  one of mine. I don't remember how he 'opened' a field, but once we got the row opened, and the horses were started on a row, he would wrap the lines around what I remember as the brake, and begin picking corn. Note here, in the old movies the stage coach driver had long reins -2 per horse-which conected to each horse. These are called the 'lines'.

To pick corn (and shuck it at the same time), grab an ear at the shank with one hand, and about mid-ear with the other hand and give it a snap. Out the ear would com, then with a quick throw the golden ear flies at the bang board. Bang! It hits the board where it falls back into the wagon.



When we got too far ahead of the stationary wagon, he'd call to the team, "Get up!" and they would pull up to where he wanted them to stop, "Whoa!" he'd call, and they would stop and wait till he repeated his command.

Of course now-a-days we have combines that can do in a day what it used to take Grandpa and I days to accomplish. And that's the way it is, but the brown corn fields bring back golden memories to me.

"That's not rotting corn..." and Brother Waymon goes on and explains to the city folks what happens and they feel better when he's done. But later he uses his tale to illustrate just how much difference a person's point of view makes. To the city people it started out as rotting corn. To a country person it is a crop in the field, it's their livelihood, their past...and their future.

Some days our world is covered with sunshine...some days our world is covered with clouds. Some times it seems the more things change--in this world--the more they stay the same.

2Corinthians 4:16 Wherefore we faint not; but though our outward man is decaying, yet our inward man is renewed day by day.

Perspective...when we look around us what do we see? Do we see sunshine...or do we see cloud?

Hebrews 12:2 looking unto Jesus the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising shame, and hath sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.