Keep Hoeing Your Row!

If this content resonates with you, share your thoughts in the comments below.

Emotions are running high at our house this week. Sunday, May 3, would have been our son Chris’s 40^th birthday. But this is the third birthday we’ve celebrated since he died, and each one has been hard to navigate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to God for the assurance of knowing Chris is at home with his Savior. I especially cherish knowing that the last word I heard my son speak aloud was Jesus. What a blessing for this momma’s heart!

But in the 34 months we’ve lived without Chris, the grief has not ended, probably because no parent ever plans to live without their child. We expect our children to bury us one day, not vice versa.

This grief journey has changed along the way, though. It’s not as emotionally heavy as it was in the beginning, and our feelings aren’t quite as open and raw. But the heart-wrenching ache to see, to hold, and to talk with Chris never ends. Actually, it’s grown more intense.

That might not sound very holy for a mature Christian to say, but it is the truth.

In fact, as this monumental birthday approached, my sense of dread kind of grew, as did my apprehension. In some ways, I believe Chris would not have relished turning 40. But I also imagine that after battling leukemia for 6 years, he would’ve been excited to reach another decade of life. Plus, as his birthdays roll by, so do those of his wife and children, and each event intensifies the loss we all feel.

So, I absolutely loved the realistic suggestions given by the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association on dealing with grief on holidays and special occasions:

I have found that the death of a loved one is somewhat like major surgery: In time the pain will lessen, but the scars remain, and you’ll always remember the years of happiness you had together. ... And yes – holidays can be especially difficult.

But let me suggest two things that I have found helpful. First, take time each day not only to recall the good times you had together (especially around the holidays), but to thank God for them. No, they’ll never return – but let your memory of them bring joy and thanksgiving to your soul, and not just sadness or regret. The Bible urges us to be “always giving thanks to God the Father for everything” (Ephesians 5:20). Then ask God to help you look beyond the past to the future, and to find ways to bring joy to others.

That’s great biblical advice that I strive to follow – not just with good intentions, but with prayerfully guided action.

But even this totally scriptural approach to grieving can grow tiresome, especially on important days, such as Chris’s upcoming birthday. That weariness got the best of me last week, as I thought of how quickly May 3^rd was approaching and how significant this birthday would’ve been for Chris.

As I shared my weariness with Jesus (in a whiny voice, filled with self-pity), it was hard to describe my ongoing grief. The words would not come – until I thought back to summers as a teenager in my hometown of Vardaman, Mississippi.

It’s important to understand that Vardaman is known as the Sweet Potato Capital of the World because we grow more sweet potatoes per capita than anywhere on earth.

Back then, teenage girls in Vardaman had only two viable options for summer jobs: babysitting or working in the sweet potato fields. Since babysitting wages paled in comparison, the choice was simple.

In the late 1970s, the first weeks of field work were relatively easy. My friends and I enjoyed sitting on planks placed atop sweet potato beds, as we pulled young plant slips and bundled them for planting. We talked and laughed as we worked in the cool breeze of early summer.

When the weather grew a little warmer, even the job of planting was enjoyable, as we sat beside a friend on a specialized tractor and inserted the young sweet potato slips into the tilled soil, one by one.

But that was the end of our fieldhand fun, because hoeing those sweet ‘taters was an awful chore in the hot, muggy, Mississippi sunshine. We arrived at the fields just after sunrise and hoed those plants from dawn to dusk.

Now, unless you’ve ever had to hoe a field of any kind, it’s hard to describe the task. Each person is basically alone, working at their own pace. But pacing is not the problem, nor is the daunting heat. The real problem is looking down at each long row and realizing how impossibly far it was to the other end.

When I did reach the row’s end, the accomplishment was short-lived because I turned right back around to face another long row that also required constant, careful attention to the sharp end of my hoe. It was a tedious, repetitive job that went on and on and on, with the actual finish line nowhere in sight.

That’s exactly how long-term grief feels. It’s just like those hot summer days in the sweet potato fields back home – endlessly repetitive and pointless.

Yes, as I navigate life here without Chris, I have good days in which the loss does not cut so deeply. And yes, I try to focus on the future and to focus on bringing joy to others. Those selfless tasks help tremendously; they really do.

But I wake up each morning to face the same task, over and over again. It’s like a never-ending walk to an eternity that is undoubtedly there. I’m waiting and walking through this grief to a promised, heavenly future that my human mind cannot really see or grasp.

So, there I sat, crying and pouring my heart out to the very God who created my child and me. The One who gave His only begotten Son to buy that eternal promise for us both.

But then … I heard that still, small Voice of the One I love so much.

He gently (and firmly) said, “My child, you cannot see the field from my view. You cannot see the end from the beginning.”

After a heavy, expectant pause, He added, “And you cannot see forever. But I do. Just keep hoeing your row – the harvest is coming.”

So, that’s it! No matter how endless this earthly journey of grief may seem, His promises will never fail.

All I have to do is show up for work with my hoe sharpened and my heart fixed on finishing the task set before me – just as I did as a teenager back in those sweet ‘tater fields of Vardaman, long before there was a little boy named Chris or a battle with leukemia.

In the first moment of eternity, all the weariness and pain will be worth it – if I just hear my Master say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.”

Until then, I will just keep hoeing, one row at a time.

Please Note: We moderate all reader comments, usually within 24 hours of posting (longer on weekends). Please limit your comment to 300 words or less and ensure it addresses the content. Comments that contain a link (URL), an inordinate number of words in ALL CAPS, rude remarks directed at the author or other readers, or profanity/vulgarity will not be approved.