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August 18, 2003 Dear Gabby, I’m leaving for my freshman year of college in a few days. I’m very excited, but at the same time, I’m nervous. I was raised in a Christian home and have always gone with my parents to church. Although I attended a public high school, serving God wasn’t too hard because several of my youth group friends also went to the same school. We hung out together and watched out for each other. It was okay. Now, I’m going to a different state, away from everyone I know, to a secular college (where I’ve been given a full-ride scholarship). I do plan to find a good Apostolic church there, but I’m required to live on campus for the first two years. I don’t know what to expect. I’m not sure if my parents’ home prepared me to live in a co-ed dorm, among non-Christians, with hardly any rules. I really hope to graduate in a few years, with my degree and with my Christianity intact, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face all the temptations and come out a winner. Do you have any words of advice for me? Freshman in Florida
Dear Freshman, I once plowed on Uncle Ernest’s farm. I had gone to stay there that summer to help Aunt Emma, who was just getting back on her feet after giving birth to my little cousin Ernestine (I believe I was about 10 or 11 years old.) “Now you help Aunt Emma and Uncle Ernest in whatever way they need, Gabby,” my sweet mama instructed me on the way there. “You’re not there to play in the barn all day.” “Yes, Mama,” I answered, thinking of long summer afternoons reading up in the loft of that very barn. “You help in the house and you help with the chores.” “Yes, Mama.” “And when you’ve finished with something, ask what else they’d like you to do.” “Yes, Mama.” I thought of the books in Aunt Emma’s library. “Gabby!” “Yes, Mama.” “Are you listening to me?” “Yes, Mama.” “Remember all I’ve said. Don’t be a burden to them; be a blessing!” “Yes…” “And, no more ‘Yes, Mama!’” “Yes… okay.” So, after a short visit with her sister and a quick cuddle with the brand-new baby, my mama went back home and there I was, the official helper for my aunt and uncle. Aunt Emma and I worked out a schedule after the first couple of days, where I’d help out with the breakfast preparations, clean up the kitchen and help with cleaning the rest of the house. Then she’d send me outside to see what Uncle Ernest needed from me. Uncle Ernest gave me jobs like feeding the chickens and gathering their eggs. Plus, there were a couple of darling orphan calves I helped feed. And the mutt, Sandy. Not only did I feed her, she was always interested in a nice roll in the grass, as long as I gave her a good scratch behind her ears. Uncle Ernest took care of the big animals and then spent much of his time working the land—plowing, planting, and weeding. Many afternoons, I’d stand at the fence and watch him with the plow, directing the oxen, making perfectly straight lines in the dirt. It seemed to me that the oxen did all the work and Uncle Ernest just walked along behind them, not doing much at all. Sandy the dog was always cavorting nearby, probably chasing butterflies or something. And, at the end of every day, just before dinnertime, after he’d put away the plow and the oxen, Uncle Ernest would pause at the back door of the house and look back with satisfaction at the work he’d accomplished that day. I was standing there at the fence watching, the afternoon Uncle Ernest collapsed. It was a very hot day, and he just fell over into one of his perfectly straight lines in the dirt. At first I didn’t believe what I’d seen. Then I ran to him, hollering at the top of my voice. I grabbed his water jar from under the tree on my way. Sandy ran to us, barking and whining. Uncle’s skin looked so flushed and hot. His hat had fallen off. When he didn’t respond to my yelling, I just poured the water on his head. He sputtered and then his eyes opened and he looked up at me with confusion. “You fell over, Uncle Ernest,” I told him. “You need to go in and rest awhile, I think.” He looked at me for a long moment. “The ox…” he started to say. “I’ll put the oxen away. I’ve watched you do it many times.” “Do you really think..?” “Yes, sir.” I nodded my head vigorously, although I wasn’t sure I could. But it was obvious that Uncle Ernest needed my help and I was going to do my best to help him. “You may be right. I probably do need to get out of the sun. I think I’ll be just fine if I can sit inside for a couple of hours. If you really think you could…” So, as the oxen stood patiently, I helped Uncle Ernest to stand. I picked up his hat out of the dirt, brushed it off against my skirt and handed it to him. He put it back on his head. Then as he leaned on me, we slowly made our way into the house, where Aunt Emma immediately took over. I went back outside to the field, thinking about how hard my uncle and aunt worked every day. They really needed more help on their farm than a ten year-old girl could provide. But, I thought to myself, I could do some things for them. And maybe if I did some more of the plowing, Uncle Ernest could rest for the remainder of the afternoon. It didn’t really look all that difficult. I picked up the reins and got the oxen moving—just like I’d seen Uncle Ernest doing day after day. It was pretty interesting at first, watching the giant fork-like tines, digging lines in the dirt. I watched the dirt for a while, as it separated neatly into piles on either side of the lines. Then Sandy barked and I looked up from the dirt to watch her as she jumped and chased another butterfly. The oxen (and I) made it to the end of the row just then, so I had to concentrate to turn them around to begin the next one. I think I worked out there for an hour or more, plowing row after row, and I remember thinking after awhile about how boring the work was. It wasn’t like feeding chickens—which ran every which way. It wasn’t like feeding the orphan calves—which were very happy to drink the milk I gave them. The dirt in each row looked the same as always—brown, lumpy, falling to the sides of the plow tines. So I watched other things. A bird high in the sky. Sandy barking at the chickens. The chickens scratching at the dirt in their pen. After several newly plowed rows, I decided that if I didn’t want to collapse in the dirt like Uncle Ernest, I’d better get myself out of the sun. So, after putting the plow and the oxen away and just before I opened the back door of the house, I paused, like I’d seen Uncle Ernest doing, night after night, to look back at what I’d accomplished. I expected to see more lovely straight plowed lines in the dirt next to the ones Uncle had finished. Instead, I saw the most crooked lines you could imagine. There seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason as to which way they were heading, except that they started and stopped at the same ends as Uncle’s. I was horrified. How could all my work look so terrible? Instead of going into the house, I sat down on the top step of the porch, looking glumly at the field. That’s when the voice spoke up from the rocking chair creaking in the shady corner of the porch. It was Uncle Ernest, with a large glass of lemonade at his side. “You worked really hard on the plowing, Gabby,” he said. “Yeah, I thought I did, but look at the mess I’ve made,” I answered. “Why are my lines so crooked? I thought it’d be easy to help you plow.” “It does look easier than it really is,” he acknowledged. “What did I do wrong? I wanted to be a blessing and not a burden, but look at that. We’ll have to do it all over again.” “Gabby, you didn’t have a focus.” “A what?” “When you plow, you need to find something in the horizon that’s stable and unmoving, and then you aim for that.” “You mean, while I was looking at Sandy and the chickens, and the bird in the sky, I should have been looking at that big tree on the hill?” “That’s exactly what I mean. The way to get the plowed lines to be straight, so that you can look back at them with pride at your accomplishment, is to look beyond what you’re doing with the plow, and aim for something in the horizon that you can count on being in the same place every time you check yourself against it.” And, my dear Freshman in Florida, Uncle Ernest’s advice works for you, too. It sounds like you have two main goals in your horizon—your degree and your intact Christianity. Fix your mind on those goals, and then head that direction. Don’t be distracted by the changeable things around you (like I was), but stay focused on where you want to end up. That way, you won’t have a tendency to get sidetracked. Just consistently do the things that bring you closer to your ultimate goals. And, at the end of your college career, you can pause at the door of your future and look back with pride at your accomplishments. Sincerely Sincere, Gabby
ninetyandnine.com © 2003, ninetyandnine.com --------- Gabrigail VanBurden has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com and be prepared for some straight answers! |
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