I am a confused man. For many of you who have had to listen to my questions in life this comes as no surprise. Still, it is true and merits special mention today.
I grew up between a small city and the farm. Those of you in Chicago or Los Angeles or Atlanta probably do not see much difference between Rochester, Minnesota, and a dairy farm. In fact, they may be synonymous in your minds. Fortunately, the responsibility for providing milk and produce for the nation does not rest on your rather urban shoulders.
If you were from Southeastern Minnesota you would understand there is a great deal of difference between the city and the country. In the public schools I attended one of the first things that defined you as a kid was if you were from town or from the farm. This was true whether the town had 2,000 inhabitants or if it was a “metroplex” of 50,000.
I grew up between both.
For part of my childhood I lived in the urban sprawl of Rochester. Truth be told, for most of that time I could walk to a cornfield within ten minutes. However, in Minnesota this was about as big a city as you could find outside of the notorious Twin Cities. Still, we all knew things happened in Minneapolis and St. Paul that you didn’t talk about in polite company.
For another part of my childhood and teen years I grew up on or around a farm. I milked cows, baled hay, castrated pigs and, once, drove a John Deere “A” through the closed door into my grandfather’s machine shed.
My grandfather always thought of me as being from town.
When I was around kids from the country I was suspect because of my knowledge of rock and roll, current politics and other sinful activities. When I was around town kids I was amazed at their basic ignorance surrounding certain facts of life. I once offered some sheep droppings to a kid and told him they were chocolate covered raisins. I never thought of myself as morally culpable when he stuffed a big handful into his mouth.
Having grown up “between” has served me well in our missionary endeavors. Most of our time has been spent in large, Latin cities. However, even in the cities my country experiences served me well.
In La Paz, Bolivia, there were certain smells that accompanied our daily lives that are best left undescribed. Many of my fellow missionaries found them to be untolerable. After caring for a hundred sows I didn’t think it was that bad.
Growing up on a farm also creates certain disciplines in life. One has to learn how to get up, put your trousers on and get to work. Admittedly, in my case, this took a number of years of reinforcement. My grandfather often caught me lounging in bed after 5:00am. His response was always the same. “What! Are you going to sleep all day?” The answer was “no,” but he never stayed around long enough to hear it.
As a result of my mixed agrarian background I am often called on by my more urban co-workers to perform certain tasks which they find challenging. When the tractor doesn’t work, my fellow missionaries have been known to stand around looking at it until I appear on the scene. This does wonders for my ego, but does not get the soccer field mowed.
When the cows from the farm behind the Multiplication Center escape, I or Susan get called. Unfortunately, some on our team feel that even though Susan grew up as the daughter of a physician, that she will have picked up some level of comfort around large animals from me by osmosis. For the most part, they seem to be right. She does great.
This past week both of us woke up at 1:00am to the certain knowledge the cows had escaped again and were eating their way through our garden, our neighbor’s garden and onto the Multiplication Center. We have had a lot of rain recently and the damage being done to our lawn was significant.
For over two hours we chased cows, herded them back to the pasture, and repaired fence – all by flashlight. We made several trips around the house of one of our Costa Rican co-workers. Between the cows mooing, me calling out “come boss” and Susan standing guard with her flashlight, they didn’t wake up once… and this is the missionary who says he sleeps lightly so he will be able to protect us from burglars!
I did have some satisfaction in the whole experience. The way the cows were lowing in the darkness made me believe that all the green bananas they had eaten where not settling well.
I may be confused about myself, but not about God’s preparation for His work. He doesn’t make mistakes. He uses our normal life experiences to make us the right people for the right time. He really has “saved us (with our personalities, talents, lack of talent and gifts) so that we might walk in works that He prepared beforehand that we can walk in them.”
That is true for missionaries in Latin America. That is true for town kids and farm kids. That is probably even true for Christians living in Chicago, L.A. and Atlanta.
I grew up between a small city and the farm. Those of you in Chicago or Los Angeles or Atlanta probably do not see much difference between Rochester, Minnesota, and a dairy farm. In fact, they may be synonymous in your minds. Fortunately, the responsibility for providing milk and produce for the nation does not rest on your rather urban shoulders.
If you were from Southeastern Minnesota you would understand there is a great deal of difference between the city and the country. In the public schools I attended one of the first things that defined you as a kid was if you were from town or from the farm. This was true whether the town had 2,000 inhabitants or if it was a “metroplex” of 50,000.
I grew up between both.
For part of my childhood I lived in the urban sprawl of Rochester. Truth be told, for most of that time I could walk to a cornfield within ten minutes. However, in Minnesota this was about as big a city as you could find outside of the notorious Twin Cities. Still, we all knew things happened in Minneapolis and St. Paul that you didn’t talk about in polite company.
For another part of my childhood and teen years I grew up on or around a farm. I milked cows, baled hay, castrated pigs and, once, drove a John Deere “A” through the closed door into my grandfather’s machine shed.
My grandfather always thought of me as being from town.
When I was around kids from the country I was suspect because of my knowledge of rock and roll, current politics and other sinful activities. When I was around town kids I was amazed at their basic ignorance surrounding certain facts of life. I once offered some sheep droppings to a kid and told him they were chocolate covered raisins. I never thought of myself as morally culpable when he stuffed a big handful into his mouth.
Having grown up “between” has served me well in our missionary endeavors. Most of our time has been spent in large, Latin cities. However, even in the cities my country experiences served me well.
In La Paz, Bolivia, there were certain smells that accompanied our daily lives that are best left undescribed. Many of my fellow missionaries found them to be untolerable. After caring for a hundred sows I didn’t think it was that bad.
Growing up on a farm also creates certain disciplines in life. One has to learn how to get up, put your trousers on and get to work. Admittedly, in my case, this took a number of years of reinforcement. My grandfather often caught me lounging in bed after 5:00am. His response was always the same. “What! Are you going to sleep all day?” The answer was “no,” but he never stayed around long enough to hear it.
As a result of my mixed agrarian background I am often called on by my more urban co-workers to perform certain tasks which they find challenging. When the tractor doesn’t work, my fellow missionaries have been known to stand around looking at it until I appear on the scene. This does wonders for my ego, but does not get the soccer field mowed.
When the cows from the farm behind the Multiplication Center escape, I or Susan get called. Unfortunately, some on our team feel that even though Susan grew up as the daughter of a physician, that she will have picked up some level of comfort around large animals from me by osmosis. For the most part, they seem to be right. She does great.
This past week both of us woke up at 1:00am to the certain knowledge the cows had escaped again and were eating their way through our garden, our neighbor’s garden and onto the Multiplication Center. We have had a lot of rain recently and the damage being done to our lawn was significant.
For over two hours we chased cows, herded them back to the pasture, and repaired fence – all by flashlight. We made several trips around the house of one of our Costa Rican co-workers. Between the cows mooing, me calling out “come boss” and Susan standing guard with her flashlight, they didn’t wake up once… and this is the missionary who says he sleeps lightly so he will be able to protect us from burglars!
I did have some satisfaction in the whole experience. The way the cows were lowing in the darkness made me believe that all the green bananas they had eaten where not settling well.
I may be confused about myself, but not about God’s preparation for His work. He doesn’t make mistakes. He uses our normal life experiences to make us the right people for the right time. He really has “saved us (with our personalities, talents, lack of talent and gifts) so that we might walk in works that He prepared beforehand that we can walk in them.”
That is true for missionaries in Latin America. That is true for town kids and farm kids. That is probably even true for Christians living in Chicago, L.A. and Atlanta.
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