And on one of the
first days,
A farmer looked up
from where he lay and said, "I need someone who cares what happens to me."
So the farmer made a
God.
The farmer said,
"I need somebody who loves it that I am willing to get up before dawn,
watch the cows, watch over the fields, watch the cows some more, who will watch
me eat supper and then give me credit as I go to town for a meeting of the
school board that will last past midnight." So the farmer made a God.
"I need somebody
who cares enough to watch me rustle a calf and will look down from on high during
the delivery of my grandchild. Somebody who loves hogs the way I do, can help
me be patient with cantankerous machinery, who will console me when I come home
hungry, or when I have to wait lunch until my wife's done feeding visiting
ladies and tell the ladies to be sure and come back real soon -- and mean
it." So the farmer made a God.
The farmer said,
"I need somebody who smiles when I sit up all night with a newborn colt, and
watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say along with me, 'Maybe next year.' I
need somebody who can help me shape an ax handle from a persimmon sprout, help
me shoe a horse with a hunk of car tire, make harness out of haywire, feed
sacks and shoe scraps. And who, in planting time and harvest season, will help
me finish my forty-hour week by Tuesday noon, then, paining from 'tractor back,'
give me a psychological boost as I put in another seventy-two hours." So
the farmer made a God.
The farmer had to have
somebody to get excited that he was willing to ride the ruts at double speed to
get the hay in ahead of the rain clouds and yet stop in mid-field and race to
help when he sees the first smoke from a neighbor's place. So the farmer made a
God.
The farmer said,
"I need somebody who believes I am strong enough to clear trees and heave
bails, yet gentle enough to tame lambs and wean pigs and tend the pink-combed
pullets, who will pay attention when I stop my mower for an hour to splint the
broken leg of a meadow lark, somebody who loves when I plow deep and straight
and I do not cut corners. Somebody who cheers me on when I seed, weed, feed,
breed and rake and disc and plow and plant and tie the fleece and strain the
milk and replenish the self-feeder and finish a hard week's work with a
five-mile drive to church." So the farmer made a God.
"Somebody who
makes permanent record of when I bale my family together with the soft strong
bonds of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes,
when his own son says he enjoyed spending his life doing things similar to what
the farmer did.'" So the farmer made a God.
