“Sow goodness, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your fallow ground. ~ Hosea 10:12
Fields of alfalfa and other feed
cattle crops rolled past as Brad drove through the desert valley where his
family had farmed with water from the Colorado River for over three
generations. He got out of his truck and stepped onto a brown, parched ground
where shriveled remnants of last year’s harvest crunched under his boots.
The water for irrigation has been temporarily shut off to
help slow the unrelenting decline in the largest reservoir in the country.
Farmers are now paid to leave portions of their land dry and fallow. Water
saved will help replenish Lake Mead which has fallen to its lowest levels since
it was filled in the 1930s after completion of the Hoover Dam.
Many people think that “fallow”
means that a field is doing nothing. Although no vegetables grow in a fallow
field, it’s not on vacation. Perhaps you could say it's on a working
vacation.
There’s value in leaving land rest when no crops are planted
for one, or several, vegetative cycles. When the earth is left completely
dormant it’s allowed to recover, store more organic matter, retain moisture,
and disrupt pathogenic lifecycles by eliminating their hosts.
Brad imagined the benefits of
fallowing for himself. Call it rest, refueling, or restoration – it’s a time
when we’re not slaves to our daily grind and we clearly see the poetry in our
souls.
It allows us to move away from the things that deaden us,
like anger, revenge, apathy, and narcissism.
He paused, welcoming the sun’s golden beams warming the day.
Eyes closed, he drew in a lung full of mountain valley air and absorbed the familiarity
of God’s intimacy.
Things happen when we slow down; when we stop doing anything
and just breathe. Fallow time, it seems, is what gives us the space to soak in the
music, savor the wine, relish time with great friends, play with grandchildren,
snuggle a puppy, and all those other things that bring him to life. “Good times
from God-time!”
Integrating spirituality into one's daily life requires
patience, quiet, and waiting. None of these are typical characteristics of our American
culture. We’re an instant, often noisy, results-oriented lot.
Just as fields need to lie fallow, so does all creation -
including us. In a world rife with addiction to busyness, it’s imperative that
we rediscover the lost art of re-creative rest. Only then can we effectively
serve and yield fruit for God’s Kingdom.
