True. Good. Beautiful.
These three words welcomed a bunch of Lorien Wood-er’s back to school in January. And oh how I’m holding onto them for dear LIFE in the bleak midwinter.
A few weeks ago I was home for Christmas—what a treat! I was driving past several open fields between my friend’s house and mine. I am always grateful for this little plot of the old Carmel, Indiana: Fields. Fencerow. Trees. Fields. Row after row. And I. love. this. These open spaces always speak to me, reminding me how I always wanted to grow up on a farm instead of the sweet culdesac of good neighbors and bikes on sidewalks. My friend Liz and I often talk about our “somedays”—what we hope and dream for someday. My Someday is on a farm. There are horses. There are open spaces. There are kids runnin’ all over it. I digress…
When I passed these wintery fields with their patches of icy snow, I thought of the word barren. Empty. And then I thought about a recent study of Antarctica with a class of 4th-5th grade explorers, and how we discovered that a “barren” landscape can be beautiful. These empty fields, the deeply rutted earth offering the last of its stubby stalks seemed so very barren. Exposed.
And this is the way creation speaks, telling me something true. These fields reminded me that Barren can be Beautiful. That Empty can be hopeful. And that, too, is good. It’s good news for a heart that feels exposed and empty.
This landscape depicted what follows a bountiful harvest. Stalks chopped by some plow. Grain long since gathered in. A long winter full of waiting.
And here is a little something I’ve learned, via a video featuring organic farmer Anthony Boutard as he reflects on his dormant cornfield(s). He comments that often we don’t think about what’s happening post harvest. But there’s so much going on after it’s all been processed. He remarks,
“The cornfield has a life after it’s finished producing ears for us....”
Here's what's happening: dormant fields supply food for birds like quail and bluebirds who will forage for seed during cold spells. The mice are having a hay day. These fields provide shelter for spiders to hide-out all winter, undisturbed. Boutard calls this “their refuge, this is their home for the winter.…”
So it’s true. What appears to be barren may not be. Life-less may be life-giving to others.
One more connection to dormant cornfields I just cannot ignore. This barren-looking cornfield business matches up with the gospel—namely, the gospel as presented to a group of elementary school-aged children. “Beginning. (God’s original intent.) Broken. (Sin enters the world, and things get messed up.) Baptized (Jesus comes.) Blessed and Becoming (Restoration).”
Being broken, a seed that falls to the ground and dies….perhaps becoming “barren” is a part the process.
Spring will surely come again--we can hope in what we know to be true. And, as Emily Dickenson defines hope,
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
So we hold fast to the hope set before us--the same hope that's perched itself right in the emptiness. And keep on singing.
