Picking Stones

As a kid I picked stones for five dollars an hour after school. Like any job, it had its ups and downs. Some days found the heat index well over a hundred and my legs felt like jello beneath me. Other days, the cloudy sky and summer breeze made the hours pass quickly. The only constant thing was the seemingly endless supply of rocks. Tractor load after tractor load we picked stones up and down those fields. I was methodical; hunting, scanning, back-tracking. I liked that job. I respected my boss and wanted to make him proud of my work. I was convinced that I could get every last stone and each year I was pretty sure I came close to that goal. Then, the following year I realized I wasn't even close. Every year, there were more stones to collect and every year, there were more stones to discard.

I think about how my own life and my own heart resemble those fields sometimes. I long for the roots of God's Word to dig deeper to withstand the uncertainty and suffering this world will offer. I pray that God will move me, when I refuse to move on my own. I pray that God will create good soil in me, that I might produce good fruit for Him.

"Have you been telling yourself ever since that you tried Jesus—but he didn't work for you? Maybe that's the problem—that you wanted him to “work for you”—accomplish your agenda, do your will, be your butler. Jesus will never be your butler—he loves you too much for that. But if you entrust yourself to him and his plans for your life, he will answer you in a way that goes beyond anything you can imagine." -Gary DeLashmutt