On Plowing Another Man's Field

The turning of the earth in our own fields is for the most part pleasant work, lending itself to a personal sense of value and worth. Keeping your own house, writing your own book, tending to your own children, completing your own tasks.
But in our world, here, now, in the 21st century, we are obligated by the rules of survival to plow another man's field, do another man's work, reap another man's crop. We must work outside our homes for a living.

All in all, this is not a bad thing. The Bible instructs us to not only look "on our own things" but also on the things of others. We are instructed to work, to care, to meet the needs of others. In the 1st century, for the slave it was the master's house or garden, for the seller-of-purple is was the market place, and for the fishermen, it was the sea.

Sometimes, however, the plowing of another man's field consumes us, taking over our every waking moment. The rocks in his field must be gathered so as not to break his plow, but the rocks in my own field are left to poke above the ground to be struck when plowing hurriedly, desperately trying to stave off the encrouchment of the surrounding vegetation of life. His seeds must be sown and gathered while our fields, my field, lies barren and empty, forsaken for the cause of another.

Since my last blog, I have been plowing another man's field at the expense of my own. My fields have lain fallow while I worked and not just worked, but allowed myself to be consumed with the work of another. The work was good work, the cause a good cause, the responsibility a God-given place to fill a need.

The problem lies not in the necessity of working in another man's field, but in the focus on simply that, never taking time to plow and sow and harvest those thoughts that must be only mine. I can labor for another and still keep my own field. But I must do it with the Master's help. If He requires that I divide my time then I must trust Him to give me strength to plow late and early in my own fields. He does not expect me to neglect my own harvest for another's.

The fields where I must work are pleasant fields, my fellow workers are focused on a common goal, serving the same Master. But I must guard my time, my fields, my crops. I must not lose the precious seeds of my own thoughts and words and goals. I must plow on.