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Dirt Clods Don't Migrate

trib-al's picture
Submitted by trib-al on Wed, 12/23/2009 - 17:26

Cobalt clouds blocked the early morning sun. To either side of the two lane road cornfields stretched, freshly plowed and bedded down for another Indiana winter. My son, second grader extraordinaire, was firing inquisitive question after question about everything from corn to who the guy wearing the funny hat on the Quaker oatmeal box was and asking me why he looked like Santa Claus, albeit un-bearded. It was our daily routine or rather – his routine and I gladly participated, mostly because his questions fascinated me, although my answers, for the most part, probably bored him. He was never sleepy – even on the six mile drive to school. I was in the midst of trying to understand how the kid could hit the ground running a hundred miles per hour when a question jarred me out of my reverie.
     “Dad, are those dead animals we’re running over?”
     I gripped the steering wheel and started to brake without thinking, not fully realizing to what dead animals he was referring. I examined the road ahead and the road behind reflected in the rearview mirrors and seeing nothing but small clumps of dirt in either direction, I asked him, “What dead animals?”
      “Those,” he said, pointing at the clumps of dirt that had fallen from the wheels of tractors that crossed the road from one field to the next. They disappeared beneath the car, making barely audible sounds as the tires passed over them. I listened for a moment relieved I wasn’t running over dead animals. Thwap-clump. Thwap-clump. And then, an inexplicable, Dad’s imagination on the loose moment, occurred.
     “Those are migrating dirt clods.”
     Josh stared at me. Undaunted, I continued.
     “Most people don’t know this, but dirt clods, unlike birds, migrate north in the fall and south in the spring.”
          He continued to stare at me. Unnerved, I continued.
     “The dirt clods on the road are the ones that didn’t make it across to the other field before it grew light this morning. You see, son, dirt clods only move at night when it’s dark. Have you ever seen a dirt clod move during the day?”
     “No.”
     “Well, there you go,” I said, as if that was all the proof necessary.
     He continued to stare at me thoughtfully, obviously contemplating the misinformation I had given him. I kept a straight face and waited.
     “Where do they go?”
     “These dirt clods probably travel only as far as Michigan because of the Great Lakes. Others probably get as far as Canada.”
     We arrived at the elementary school. He gathered his book bag and lunch pail, opened the door and jumped from the car. Turning around, he beamed at me, “Bye, Dad. Love you. Don’t forget to pick me up,” he instructed and dashed for the school door.
     I watched him go, knowing that by the time he was in seventh or eighth grade, his dash would become a trudge. The dirt clods? I didn’t give them a second thought. By the time the migrating dirt clods became a topic of conversation again we would be in a different church district and Josh would be attending third grade in a different elementary school.
     Jesus spoke of dirt clods. Oh, not directly, but still…
     In Matthew 13 Jesus tells the story of a farmer that got up early one morning to seed his fields by hand. Some seeds fell on the path.  Some seeds fell on thinly covered rocks. Some seeds fell among un-weeded patches. Still other seeds fell along the sides of the path where, according to my own observation, dirt clods reside. The question that comes to mind whenever I read the story is this: How do the various locations that are considered unreceptive to growth change? The path will always remain a path unless the farmer plows it under. The layer of shallow dirt covering the rocks will not move unless the farmer either rakes it away or removes the rocks. The dirt covered over by weeds cannot weed itself – the farmer must do that. And, as we all know, dirt clods do not migrate… something I had to admit to my son within the first week of his third grade year.
     I was at home in my office reviewing some notes I had taken during a school board meeting when I received a call from the elementary school. It was Joshua’s teacher, Miss Hooper.
     “Pastor Al?”
     “Yes.”
     “Something came up today during the science portion of our day and I wanted to discuss it with you.”
     “Okay,” I responded, somewhat tentatively.
     “First of all, did you tell your son that dirt clods migrated?”
     I nearly choked. I had completely forgotten the ‘migrating dirt clod’ conversation of the previous year and was even more surprised to discover that my son actually believed me. I stammered through an affirmative response and received a somewhat deserved reminder of how influential fatherhood can be; all of which ended with me promising to correct the misinformation I had given my son regarding the nonexistent animate property of dirt clods.
     However, as with most things in life, good came from all of this.
     The phrase I used to correct the situation, “Son, dirt clods don’t migrate”, has provided me with a key to understanding the story Jesus told of the farmer that got up early to seed his fields. It’s really quite simple. All of us make up the various locations on which the seed fell and if we wish to be changed into soil that is receptive, it is entirely up to the efforts of the farmer who, by the way, symbolizes Jesus. The difference between the soil of the story and me is that I have the ability to ask the farmer (Jesus) to change the condition of my heart-soil into that which would not only be receptive to those heavenly seeds of God, but to spiritual growth, as well.
     While the soil has no choice, I do. David understood this when he asked the Farmer Jesus in Ps. 51:10, “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me (NIV).”
~ Pastor Al