In anticipation of a good and plentiful harvest, farmers must look months (even years) ahead to prepare and cultivate the land that will produce crops. Branch and bramble must be uprooted from rugged soil. Brush piles must be cleared and removed to expose fertile and arable soil. Finally, the earth must be tilled and the soil made hospitable for seed. Plentiful harvests are only realized through a farmer's effort to shape and prepare the soil.
One of my favorite spring-time duties was tilling the fields with tractor and disking machinery. Disking involves prepping the fields with a series of ploughs (or disks) towed by heavy tractors. When plunged into the soil, these disks churn, flip, and furrow the soil; creating ideal conditions for seeds to germinate and grow. It is straightforward work; drag the disking machinery in parallel lines one pass at a time. I enjoyed the work because it was private, repetitive, and best paired with a lengthy playlist of songs which could be sung at a volume too embarrassing for the public, but perfect for a sound-insulated tractor cab for an audience of one. In short, I loved this work!
One particularly beautiful spring day, I met with my father to review the next field that needed plough-work. In the previous summer, we prepared this particular field by clearing more acreage and painstakingly picking sticks and rocks, and removing them from the new field (my least favorite work; but that is a story for another day). The earthwork from this field was backfilled to eliminate a natural wash running through the middle of the field. The wash separated the larger existing field from the newly cleared field we were preparing for it's inaugural seeding.
"Avoid the old wash." Dad warned me.
Dad explained that the soil was soft and had not been adequately compacted. We experienced typical spring moisture, and while the natural wash had been filled, residual moisture still remained in the soil where the wash once stood. I remember thinking that the soil looked dry and suitable for plough-work. However, Dad admonished in clear and explicit terms that was I to avoid that portion of the field.
This wasn't my first rodeo. On multiple occasions I had ploughed areas similar to this wash without any difficulty. The plough tractor was the most powerful machine on the ranch, and it pulled the heavy disk machine with ease. Making quick work of the pre-approved dry acreage, I approached the wash closer and closer with each pass. My confidence (and pride) grew stronger and stronger.
After confirming that my father's truck (and supervising eye) were long gone, I skirted the edges of the wash with my last shred of adolescent trepidation. As I suspected; the fringe dirt was moist, but firm enough. After a few more cautious passes, and there was no doubt in my mind: I could traverse the wash with ease.
The plan was simple; bifurcate the old wash and connect the two separate parts of the field. My father would be so impressed.
Lifting the disks, I took a wide turn through the freshly ploughed dry dirt, turning the equipment perpendicular to the wash. With the engine's RPM set to the appropriate speed, I began my descent into the old wash and into Heart Lake Ranch legend.
Whereas the outskirts of the old wash were lightly watered, the central soil was spongy, then muddy... then downright sloppy. Tens of thousands of pounds in metal, rubber, and machinery plunged deep into dark brown (nearly black) mud. At that exact moment I gained a new appreciation for the words "bogged down". The tractor jerked, heaved, and sputtered with each futile wheel rotation, spewing large clods of mud far behind the tractor. I frantically raised the disks, placed the tractor in reverse, then in drive, then in reverse once more. The effort was pointless of course. I was stuck, and I knew it.
Revving down the engine, I opened the door to get an outside look, hoping against all odds that a solution would be made obvious if I could only get a better picture of the situation. Normally the jump down from the main cab to solid ground would have been a lofty six foot descent. This time, I needed only a single step from my seat to reach "solid" ground. I at once noticed those massive tires, which at one time had traversed and tamed such rugged and wild landscapes, were now hopelessly cemented in place by dark viscous mud. The panic I felt was gone, replaced by far more torturous combination of dread, embarrassment, and angst.
Although unique and mildly humorous, my experience of the muddy tractor might seem to you very familiar, peculiar as that might seem. Of course, not all of us have the privilege to operate heavy duty farm equipment. Some of us may not have even set foot on a farm, let alone a tractor. However, we all suffer the cycle of sin and endure the fallout of mistakes borne of pride, arrogance, and ignorance. No matter the circumstances or setting, we experience sin the same way:
We are given instructions, counsel, or guidance...
We convince ourselves (and sometimes others) that we know better...
We tip-toe around the line, believing ourselves invulnerable when we don't see immediate consequences of our tap dance with right and wrong, until in due time...
We find ourselves alone, sullied, and floundering in a quagmire of our own making.
Many of us double down on our pride, thinking "I got myself in this mess, I'm can sure as hell get myself out of it". So we spin our wheels and churn our legs, boldly determined to get out and get on. Admirable as this might seem on the surface, this belief is simply a last desperate remnants of the same arrogance that led us into sin in the first place. Still, we are surprised that our "admirable" effort doesn't yield a desired outcome.
We remain stuck.
These are the circumstances of sin; rhythmic and repeatable.
Getting out requires that we recognize those barriers keeping us from repentance, humbly cry for help, and rely on the goodness of others.
Recognizing Barriers to Repentance
No two sins look alike. There are sins of commission (intentional and malevolent action), and there are sins of omission (neglectful and apathetic inaction). In in many instances, we make mistakes where both omission and commission are at play. Driving a massive tonnage of expensive farm machinery into deep mud certainly constitutes a sin of commission. But we also find the sin of omission in the pride of youth, the apathy of laziness, and the disobedience to a father's wise counsel.
We could quibble over the degree of seriousness one sin may have over another. We could go to great lengths to catalog the ways in which others err. We could, and we too often do. This default mindset robs us of the fruits of repentance; namely peace, confidence, and joy.
How much better would we be, if instead of arguing the intricacies of committable motes and beams, we focused on those barriers keeping us from actually enjoying the fruits of repentance?
So if finding blame in others serves no purpose, where should we point the finger? Our first answer might be, "well, myself of course." Though that mindset is more accurate, it too misses the mark. Looking at our own face in the mirror usually produces the same loathsome judgment that we would have reserved for someone else and their mistakes. In reality, the basic "I'm the problem" attitude is as pointless as the "they're the problem" attitude. The true barrier to repentance is not a face we see reflected back at us, rather a silent and unaddressed fear beneath the surface. Fear keeps us from change. Fear keeps us from growth. Fear keeps us from repentance.
This begins to make sense if we remember that faith precedes repentance in the order of gospel principles. Then we must remember that the antithesis to faith is fear. Whereas faith involved hope, confidence, and action, fear involves despair, uncertainty, and inaction.
Faith tells us that repentance brings about positive change. Faith tells us that life will be brighter, happier, and more fulfilling on the other side of change.
Contrast that with fear, which tells us that change is not always good, and that the risks associated with repentance are far too great. This is why faith, as a gospel principle, is placed before repentance: faith and fear cannot coexist, and where there is no fear, there is no barrier to repentance.
If faith is the hope of things not seen but true (Ether 12:6), then fear is the anticipation of things invented in our minds and most likely not true at all. Fear conjures up an endless array of what-ifs, and these speculations serve us little. We would be farther ahead if we understood, as the wise stoic philosopher Seneca did, that “we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.”
This was my struggle that spring day on the ranch. Imagining the most severe and worst case scenarios became my default line of thought. Precious brain power and problem-solving energy were wasted. What punishment lay in store? What would I be losing when the piper needed paying? In reality, there would be no way of knowing. But the fear was present, and it was keeping me from doing that which was necessary in favor of doing that which was self-destructive.
Overcome your fear, and you will overcome the single greatest barrier to repentance and growth.
Humbly Cry For Help
How do you know once that fear has been conquered? One good sign is you’re ability to ask for help and seek the assistance of others.
Consider the following:
Our fear of rejection keeps us from showing someone else that we are human; that we have weaknesses.
Our fear of isolation keeps us from sharing any vulnerability that could repel a potential partner, friend, or opportunity.
Our fear of losing status keeps us from exposing shortcomings that might tarnish our reputation and compromise our future.
A man or woman that has mustered the courage to seek help, to ask for it humbly from people that they love and respect; that is a man or woman that has learned to overcome their fear.
You see, there comes a point where you can no longer hide the consequences of your actions. At some point, the lies you’ve told or lived come to light, visible to everyone from whom you tried so desperately to keep them a secret. At some point, your ruinous behavior bleeds itself into other areas of life. By that time, when loved ones discover the fallout of your mistakes, how much greater shall be your shame and embarrassment? How much damage and pain might you have spared yourself and others?
I knew at some point, my dad would be driving by the muddy mess I had made with the tractor. I knew I had created a problem I couldn't solve myself. But fear stayed my hand from calling out for help on the radio. Fear drove the belief I could get out of the mess on my own. Fear fueled my frantic solo efforts to get unstuck, thereby worsening my situation with each futile attempt.
Had I fought my fears, I might have seen my error immediately as a difficulty worthy of outside help. I would have called my father seeking help sooner, saving precious time and energy. Instead, I permitted fear to control of the situation, which led to one disastrous decision after another.
With daylight fading fast, and with nowhere else to turn, I was left without any other options; I had to call for help. I picked up the radio, reached out to my father, and told him I needed his help.
Rely On the Goodness of Others
To my surprise, the response to my petition came back unemotional and plain. My father had heard the message loud and clear, and though I didn't give too many details, he knew enough to know that I had messed up royally. But his tempered response provided little comfort; I imagined the real tongue-lashing was being held in reserve for the time that he had seen my spectacular failure.
In a few short minutes, I could see the rescue party approaching. A large pluming dust cloud trailed the pick-up truck; the kind of dust cloud you see behind a speeding truck with an agitated and aggravated driver at the wheel. As he got closer, I could see one, then two passengers in his company; my older brothers. My shame and embarrassment intensified as I imagined all the fraternal heckling and teasing that was sure to follow.
They all exited the truck, and I braced myself for teasing. Not a word was said. They approached the scene of the crime, and I prepared myself for reprimand. Nothing happened. They beheld the hopeless situation I had created, and I steeled myself for humiliation. That never happened either! Instead, they saw the problem for what it was, worked on a game plan, and before I knew it, my father was back in his truck and off to another field to enlist the help of the ranch dozer to drag the helpless tractor out of my mess. No punishments. No reprimands. No ridicule. Just a sigh, a snicker, and a playful "I-told-you so" look.
We all spent the next several hours hooking chains, dragging machinery, and heaving the metal mess out of the mud. The anticipation of hard feelings and emotional frustration disappeared, replaced instead by an attitude of problem solving and cooperative work. We poked fun at the situation, teasing one another about other infamous machinery breakdowns and mishaps. Rather than feel isolated and singled out, I felt reassured. This was a part of farming and life, they reminded me. We laugh and we plough on.
To fully experience the joys of change and repentance, we need to rely on the goodness of others. Read that closely again. You will note that I did not say we NEED the goodness of others. Whether some people demonstrate goodness or not, that does not matter. What does matter, is that we rely on someone's goodness and generosity when it does present itself. When we find it, we accept it.
You will find that there might not be goodness in others. You might find that the people from whom you would expect to find safety, security, and understanding are wholly incapable of providing them. What I am saying is that you need to trust that they will show their quality as a friend, a confidante, and a guardian. If they do not, you will have learned something valuable about your relationship with them. You will discover the need to surround yourself with those who do understand such concepts as forgiveness and charity.
People generally are good. Family and friends that fall into this category will not disown you and they will not abandon you. They might be upset, and we must take care not to confuse their disappointment with rejection. They will stand by you. They will support you. These dutiful and earnest souls will get down in the mud with you, disconnecting chains, scrapping off mud, and spending precious hours by your side.
This does not give you full liberty to be a constant source of pain and wrong-doing. Repeated offenses and transgressions that cause hurt or pain to ourselves and others will, in time, drive even good people away. This becomes especially true in cases where the offender does little or nothing to right the wrongs they cause. Though they may love you and hurt for you, good people do not abide relationships where others take advantage of their love and sacrifice.
I know that sharing vulnerability and weaknesses with others can be one of the most difficult things to do in our lifetime. Often times, we can, and sadly do, lose relationships through honesty and forthrightness. Not all people appreciate candid accountability. Some people will judge you. Some people will leave you. Some may even try to hurt you (added emphasis on try).
I cannot say for sure why our deficiency and fragility inspire such ugly responses, but they sometimes do. Someone's poor reaction does not indict you, your character, or your value. However, if you take repentance and change seriously, you can always expect to lose something along the way. That loss becomes part of your growth, and though it may not seem so, it is a blessing to lose associations that will not help you through muck and mire.
We gain so much from walking a path of penitence. I don't say these things from a position of piety. For some, the word repentance might carry with it an air of pretentiousness or religiosity. What an unfortunate misguided position to take! The practice of repentance does not belong only to devout practitioners, rather it is a principle from which we all receive benefit.
Consider the glutton developing discipline to eat better, and exercise more. This is repentance.
Consider the addict abandoning convenient escapism, and resolving personal issues. This is repentance.
Consider the indolent waking up, and assuming increased responsibility. This is repentance.
Consider the unruly teen taking note, and remembering a father's wise counsel. This is repentance.
Change. Personal development. Transformation... Repentance.
So when we feel stuck, like we're spinning our wheels, and plunging deeper and deeper into some intangible bog, I pray that we might find courage and overcome our fears.
When we feel like we can go no further on our own, like we have exhausted our very best efforts with no results, I pray that we humbly reach out to those who could help us out.
When others, when in response to seeing our struggle through proverbial dregs, express repulsive outrage, I pray we can dismiss their offenses and still trust in the goodness of others.
