Let Me Tell You a Story – Plowing

 

let-me-tell-you-a-story.jpgIts been a decade or two since I used to go trapping.  Trapping with an elder in a church in the north half of Quebec, Canada.

Let me tell you a wee story, bout a time I was trying to relate to a believer in a church.  He was a trapper in a small northern town in Quebec, where the snow fell deep and the temperature dropped deeper.  He was a big man, and his wife would buy loaves of bread to make him lunches everyday.  She would put all the sandwiches back into the sandwich bag for his lunch the next day!

Much of that info was unnecessary, but he was an interesting fella, and I felt I needed to connect with him.

Did I tell you he was a hobby trapper?  This hobby of his offered me an opportunity to connect with him.  So, I swallowed my fear of blood and eyeballs, and asked if I could help him the next time he goes out.

The day came and we headed north to a trap line, crossing a frozen lake covered with freshly fallen snow.  It was a glorious day, and it was obvious that I was a newby on the trip.  I would be chatting and asking questions, pointing over there and checking that thing out – O wow, hey did you see that over there?

beaver pelt
Beaver Pelts

But not Reynald.

He was focused on the beaver house that was ’bout a half mile out yet.  Oh, he was polite, and super friendly, but he was focused.  Did I tell you I was a bit of a scatterbrain?  If not, I’m telling you now.  And to think of it at the time, it wasn’t obvious.

Until…

Until we got to the beaver house, and I looked back.  Big ol’ Reynalds path through the fresh fallen snow was like a surveyors line.  Straight, linear, without curvature or bend.

Ol dummy over here, my path looked like an ol drunk had stumbled through the snow.

What was the difference between ol Reynald and myself?

A goal, a point of focus, a destination.  Yup – that was all it was.

ploughing with a muleI have never been a farm boy, needing to plow straight furrows.  So, this story is a Canadian’s way of relating to plowing a straight furrow in a field.  To plow a straight furrow, a goal or destination needs to be focused on.  Short sighted goals to the left or right will produce a crooked furrow.

Looking back during the plowing of a field is of course foolish.

Luke 9:62

Jesus said to him, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

What is your focus?  Are you easily distracted?  How is your plowing going?

By the way, I ended up skinning some of the trapped animals, and found that my dread of blood and eyeballs could be controlled if I was trying to love a fellow believer.  But don’t ask me to touch your eyeball today – That is just too gross!!!

Oh, and by the way, if you are of the opinion that trapping is immoral, or constitutes a cruelty to animals, let it be known that I no longer trap.

But I still eat the occasional hamburger!


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