Early Spring, 2005.

“Now you can prove to me that you grew up on a farm.” This was said with extreme sarcasm.

          “Oh, good! Just what I wanted to do today! Who am I speaking too?”

          She told me her name and asked if I could hurry, and then hung up. She was part of our church in Ohio. Her husband had died suddenly the previous year and now she had the small farm. Very small farm. What real farmers referred to, with distain, as a ‘toy farm.’ In this case, that phrase was accurate. Her husband, a hospital administrator, did the farm as a hobby. It wasn’t meant to make money. They had some chickens, a few sheep, a couple of horses and two small fields. And two HUGE Irish wolfhounds that, for some reason, decided they loved me. But I hadn’t met the dogs as yet because this was my first trip there. As I drove over to the house my mind was on the lady who had called me. She had been having a very hard time since her husband had died. I was trying to work with her through counseling as she struggled with her emotions, but for some reason she would reach out for help and then completely resent the fact that you were helping. I was starting to get a handle on it and now the emergency at the ‘farm.’ For her to actually call me for help meant she had no other option. She was embarrassed she could not handle it herself and that embarrassment was making her angry and nasty.

          I pulled into the drive and the two massive wolfhounds ambled towards the car. I like to think I can make friends with any dog, but wolfhounds are not only very big, they are also quite ugly. I got out and one of the dogs, I later found out that he was the oldest, just stood his ground and glared at me. The other launched himself up on his hind legs and put his paws on my shoulders. I found myself looking up (this dog was a good foot or more taller than me) at just about the ugliest dog face I had ever seen.

          The woman stepped out of the barn and snapped, “You can play with the dogs later! My problem is in here!”

          She was embarrassed and angry, but she was irritating me. The dogs were half scaring me and she was being obnoxious. As I have gotten older in age and in the ministry, I have less patience with obnoxious people. Jesus referred to those who were trying to tear Him down as vipers. He certainly didn’t put up with it. But I was younger then and still of the notion that pastors were supposed to allow themselves to be bullied. I followed her into the barn.

          There was their farm tractor. A small International. The thought ran through my head, ‘toy tractor for a toy farm.’ Behind the tractor was a very small brush hog. Or maybe it was a bush piglet. I almost laughed

          “I can’t figure out how to get the brush hog hooked up so I can cut down the north field.” She had neighbors all around with real farms. She could have asked any one of them for help. But she had called me, her pastor. It suddenly dawned on me why. It galled her to have to ask for help, but she had no choice. So, she called the one person she could trust not to laugh at her for needing help. And there I was, about to laugh at her toy brush hog, which was just a bit bigger than a weed whacker. I caught myself and checked the laugh. I just looked the equipment over.

          “Well, do something, farm boy!”

          I looked at her and said, “I have never seen a brush hog like this. I have to think it through.” 

          “You didn’t have a brush hog back on the farm?”

          I really wanted to tell her that my father would have been ashamed of himself to have had that brush hog, but I let it go. She kept pacing and muttering. What I wanted to do was leave, but those dogs were outside. I just continued to examine the set up.

          As she was getting ready to say something else, I started connecting the pieces. It was pretty simple. It all went together easily. She stared and then said, “What did you just do?” I went through the procedure with her and she just looked confused. “Anyway, when was the last time this thing was greased?” She had no idea what I was talking about. I pulled a grease gun off a peg board and showed her where the grease nipples were and how to use the gun. Again, she started getting irritated.

          “I don’t have time for that! I have to get that north field cut before sundown!” The north field was six acres of weeds. There wasn’t a real need to hurry, especially when it came to taking care of equipment. But it was her toy farm and her toy toys. I was putting the gun back as she was climbing into the seat. She fired up the tractor and jammed it into gear. She popped the clutch and the little thing stalled. She did it again and it stalled again. And again.

          She sat on the tractor and started to cry. It hadn’t been anger or irritation or haste. It was grief. She was trying to do her husband’s jobs to make him proud. She had no clue. She just didn’t know how. She sat there and cried. The wolfhound that had glared at me outside walked into the barn and looked at her and then at me as though he was wondering if I needed punished for making Mom cry. I leaned up against a wall and waited for her to stop.

          When she was done crying, she climbed down and headed for the door, head down. “No, you stay right there,” I said. I climbed into the seat and had her climb up, too. She stood on the platform and held on as I started the tractor. I raised the brush hog and slowly released the clutch and we drove out of the barn. In the yard I showed her how to operate everything and pretty soon we traded places and soon after that she was a brush hogging fool. I climbed down and sat on a stump and watched as she headed for the north field. The dogs came over and the one that glared at me earlier sat down facing me and continued to glare at me. The other one made it clear he wanted to play. After a while, I did play with him. The lady had it figured out and there was a dog to play with.

          A lot of people won’t try something because they don’t know how to do it. Others will try to do something without knowing how and then get frustrated. Everyone who can do something learned how to do it at some point. We learned how to eat with a spoon and a fork. We learned how to walk. We learned how to dress ourselves. We learned how to drive. There is nothing wrong with asking for help. You can’t teach a Sunday School class because you have never been taught. You can’t serve on the Board because you have never been taught. Whatever it is that you say you cannot do, maybe it is just because you haven’t been taught. There are plenty of people who can show you how.

          Don’t shake your head and say you cannot do it. Put some effort into it and learn how. That lady was still cutting her field when I left. It gave her great joy.