A Large Field of Cotton

Growing up, I walked many a mile in a cotton field with a cotton hoe in my hand.

It was hot work

It was tiring work.

Sweat poured off my forehead and soaked through my bandanna and baseball cap.

At the end of the day, I couldn't wait to take a shower, enjoy a cold drink, and sleep.  My dad often used the cotton patch as an opportunity to teach important lessons.  I'll never forget the time we stopped in the turning row about mid morning. We pulled out a Dr. Pepper and began drinking, taking a mid-morning break from chopping. 

"Kevin," Dad said, "do you want to spend the rest of your life doing this?"

"No, sir," I promptly replied.

"Then, you're going to get yourself an education, right?"

Enough said.

Well, I got my education.  High school, college, and then a Master's degree at seminary.  I've worked behind a desk and behind the wheel of a car and in front of a congregation.  It's been good.  Real good.

But there are times when I long for that cotton patch now.

That may sound ridiculous, but I assure you, it's not. 

Back in the day when I chopped cotton, you didn't have cell phones or any such method to "stay connected."  You were out in the middle of the cotton patch walking mile long or half a mile long cotton rows.  The only sounds you heard were passing trucks, crop dusters, the wind, and possibly a few birds which decided to fly over.  You had no choice but to think--to process things that had happened in your life and to imagine your future.  And, being the person I was, many of my thoughts turned to God.

God and I wrestled mightily out there in those cotton patches underneath the South Texas sun.  We had many a conversation, and there was nothing to interrupt us.  I long for times like that now.

At the end of the day, I could look at the rows of cotton I had walked, and I saw what difference had been made.  The rows were weed free and looked clean.  You could tell someone had done something.  You felt confident as you had spent quality time with God with no interruption, and you knew He'd be waiting to visit with you again the next day. 

Such is not to say that God isn't a part of my life right now.  Neither is it to say that a difference isn't being made in what I do.  But things were a little more evident--straight forward.  You could notice things much more easily.

It would be nice to spend a day in a large field of cotton with a cotton hoe in my hand, walking, chopping, and conversing with God one more time.