THE ROPE ACROSS THE FIELD

I entered the field at morning light,

Certain the path was clear and bright.

The sun was warm, the air was still,

And confidence walked beside my will.

But fields are strange and fields are wide,

And soon the beasts came from inside.

Doubt began to stalk the ground,

While fear and anger gathered round.

The feelings changed from hour to hour,

Like shifting wind and passing showers.

One moment strong, the next unsure,

One moment rich, the next quite poor.

I searched for peace, I searched for rest,

But found the work was in the test.

For good states come and bad states go,

Like rivers that forever flow.

Then I remembered what was done

Before the darkness had begun.

A covenant written heart to heart,

A promise made before the start.

When sight grows dim and strength is small,

The rope remains through it all.

Tied to the friends, tied to the way,

Tied to the purpose of the day.

The field grows wild, the weeds grow high,

The beasts still roar, the crows still cry.

Yet something stronger holds me still,

A bond beyond my changing will.

The ten remembers when I forget.

The friends remind me not to quit.

And when the dust hides all I see,

Their strength preserves the path for me.

So let the field reveal its face,

Its every beast, its every place.

For I have learned what makes me whole:

Not fleeing from the field—

But holding to the rope.

THE WILD FIELD

I walked into the field this morning,

Thought I'd find a rose or two.

Instead I found ten angry donkeys,

And one of them looked just like me.

A fox was selling shortcuts,

A crow was shouting, "You have arrived!"

A snake said, "Skip the morning meeting,"

And somehow that sounded wise.

The weeds were taller than my faith,

The mud was deeper than my prayer.

Every step I tried to take

Found another hole waiting there.

Then pride rode by on a shiny horse,

Wearing a crown ten feet high.

He said, "You don't need the friends today."

Five minutes later he was gone.

Doubt was hiding in the bushes,

Fear was sleeping in the shade.

Jealousy was counting everyone else's blessings,

While I was counting my mistakes.

By noon I wanted to quit the field.

By supper I wanted to burn it down.

By evening I finally remembered—

The Owner was walking around.

Then suddenly it all made sense.

The beasts were never there to stay.

Each one came to show a weakness

That needed work that day.

So now when wolves start howling

And wild thoughts begin to run,

I tip my hat and say, "Good morning,

Looks like today's work has begun."

The field is rough.

The field is wild.

The field can make a grown man cry.

But every thorn,

And every beast,

Is one more reason to aim on high.

And when the day is finally over,

And all my plans have come undone,

I laugh and tell the friends,

"Well boys...

The field won again."

Then we pray,

Get up,

And start tomorrow's work.