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The long, eternal game of walking with the Father. This is a relationship where the summation of the desired outcome isn’t directly expressed in temporary,  trivial wins of black versus red in the short term. The value developed is the shape of how the hand holding onto the Hand of the Father is grown, weathered, and made into something wholly unique…A weathered hand, tethered to the Hand of the Father, that receives the gift that few expect: the gift of being wholly unique and laid bare for others to see, and to see the scars and wounds that have been healed solely by the balm that comes from the deep, experiential knowing of his proximity. 


(Accompanying song: The Farmer and the Field, by Jason Upton.)

The wealth the Father desires to see is the wholeness of the relationship he has with his sons and daughters that doesn’t ever initially express itself in success outwardly. Quite the opposite, actually. It begins with stripping, fighting, unearthing, tearing down, laying bare, clearing the foundation, digging to the roots just to dig again, agonizingly going over again that thing we assumed to have already learned. This in the short term seems to be more destructive than restorative, but the purpose of plowing ground is to eventually clear the way for fruit. One must first allow the farmer to destroy the life that currently exists in disorder, so it can be put back in order. Not because the Father despises the life that is growing currently, but because of how much he values the field. His knowledge of the capabilities and destiny of the field drives the Father not to settle for a misappropriation of the soil that he has prepared. Many choose to never allow the farmer to plow the ground because of the pain that comes in the process of feeling the plowing. They perceive that pain as a symptom of their own inadequacy and the lack of current fruit as a judgement of their lack of value. But it is solely the opposite. The higher the value of the soil the more precise the plowing. Even good things get removed from good soil, not because they aren’t good but because they aren’t appropriate for that soil.


 (Accompanying song: The Long Path, by The Family.)

As this process continues, the Father somehow simultaneously plows, and harvests from the same soil. In the midst of focusing on the long game, he uses the process to spur others on to allowing the Father to come that close. They see the beauty of a field laid bare and wish so badly to be the field that is worthy of being laid bare. They then position themselves to experience the necessary destruction that comes with purification unto identity. This process is somehow sowing and plowing all at the same time. As the process continues, the trust in both the soil and the farmer deepens, and the land is finally comfortable enough to rest in the hands of the one who knows best. The soil, prepared and trusting, enters into rest…a rest that allows it do what it has striven to do with its own might, and now gets to rejoice internally that everything moving forward will be wrought because of the hands of the farmer, and its trust in the value of its own worth.


 (Accompanying song: Grow, by Jason Upton.)

Then comes the fruit…the fruit no longer yielding and quickly dissipating… but fruit, the abundance of which has no end. Fruit that even when it falls onto the soil, instead of rotting and yielding nothing, grows again. Because the soil has so yielded to its nature that every seed that touches it springs forth and produces. The bedrock of the field is so strong and sturdy that other fields are built by the transplants from the overproduction of fruit. Even the fruit that has grown in disorder is taken and used for other fields in other lands. Now all can come and admire the field that produces continually, and the field isn’t moved by those admiring, but is solely rejoicing in the rest that has come from the work that the farmer has wrought in it.

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