With God we can change our ruts into life-giving furrows
May 9, 2024 at 9:05 a.m.
Mathias Reding/Unsplash Image
My mom used to say, “By Jiminy Cricket!” a lot, but that’s another column.
My dad was fond of pointing out when he, or others, were “stuck in a rut.”
It didn’t seem remarkable to me, or even memorable at the time. Today, I have a new appreciation for its meaning.
Being stuck in a rut is challenging when you’re young, but when recognized it can lead to a new impetus to climb up and out and get moving for a better future.
When you’re older, we tend to look at it more in line with American author, Ellen Glasgow, who wrote, “The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions.”
Unlike the furrows of a farmer’s plough, turning up the soil and preparing the ground for little packets of life that will grow into sustenance for body and soul, ruts are packed solid. Life doesn’t flourish there.
Being in a rut is not just a matter of stagnating. It’s a matter of how and why we created the situation that has us stuck. We have, as another American author, Edith Wharton, explained, developed the habit of “turning a trail into a rut,” a habit that must be “incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive.”
But that’s the problem with habits. They’re hard to break.
I’ve created many ruts in my lifetime, and each time I have to learn again that I can’t get out until I’ve addressed the spiritual rut that really led me there. Where has God been in this situation? God never leads us to a place of stagnation, so I have only myself to blame. If God is too distant to hear or feel, it isn’t God who has stepped away, it’s me.
Generally, ruts lead to moaning and groaning, at least for me. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, as if God is saying, “Enough already with the moaning and groaning!” an unexpected invitation shows up in my email for a day-long retreat, at the shore, for caregivers.
An imaginary neon-sign blinks of the screen: “This one is for you!” A custom-made step up out of the rut. Before I finished reading all the details, I was emailing back my “I’ll be there!” An impulsive decision. A good first step. For the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to something.
And one more gift, a prayer book on my desk, “Good and Generous God,” written by a friend and colleague, Father John Hillier, opens to “A Farmer’s Prayer.” I am surprised at how much this prayer speaks to my need to listen to God within creation, for sowing and harvesting and keeping all in balance, and for gratitude. I’ll be taking it with me on retreat so, perhaps instead of climbing out of the rut, I can change it into a furrow, and plant some seeds.
Mary Morrell is editor-in-chief of The Catholic Spirit, the Metuchen Diocese newspaper.
A Farmer’s Prayer
Lord of heaven and earth, keep the soil of the earth rich and abundant.
Whether we receive rain or sun, may the balance of nature always remain intact.
May the seed that is sown become food for the multitudes, a harvest that is plentiful, never wasted, always shared.
Keep me always determined to work the fields consistently, never to waver in my love of nature, maintaining and appreciating the fruit of the earth all the days of my life. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
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Mathias Reding/Unsplash Image
My mom used to say, “By Jiminy Cricket!” a lot, but that’s another column.
My dad was fond of pointing out when he, or others, were “stuck in a rut.”
It didn’t seem remarkable to me, or even memorable at the time. Today, I have a new appreciation for its meaning.
Being stuck in a rut is challenging when you’re young, but when recognized it can lead to a new impetus to climb up and out and get moving for a better future.
When you’re older, we tend to look at it more in line with American author, Ellen Glasgow, who wrote, “The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions.”
Unlike the furrows of a farmer’s plough, turning up the soil and preparing the ground for little packets of life that will grow into sustenance for body and soul, ruts are packed solid. Life doesn’t flourish there.
Being in a rut is not just a matter of stagnating. It’s a matter of how and why we created the situation that has us stuck. We have, as another American author, Edith Wharton, explained, developed the habit of “turning a trail into a rut,” a habit that must be “incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive.”
But that’s the problem with habits. They’re hard to break.
I’ve created many ruts in my lifetime, and each time I have to learn again that I can’t get out until I’ve addressed the spiritual rut that really led me there. Where has God been in this situation? God never leads us to a place of stagnation, so I have only myself to blame. If God is too distant to hear or feel, it isn’t God who has stepped away, it’s me.
Generally, ruts lead to moaning and groaning, at least for me. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, as if God is saying, “Enough already with the moaning and groaning!” an unexpected invitation shows up in my email for a day-long retreat, at the shore, for caregivers.
An imaginary neon-sign blinks of the screen: “This one is for you!” A custom-made step up out of the rut. Before I finished reading all the details, I was emailing back my “I’ll be there!” An impulsive decision. A good first step. For the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to something.
And one more gift, a prayer book on my desk, “Good and Generous God,” written by a friend and colleague, Father John Hillier, opens to “A Farmer’s Prayer.” I am surprised at how much this prayer speaks to my need to listen to God within creation, for sowing and harvesting and keeping all in balance, and for gratitude. I’ll be taking it with me on retreat so, perhaps instead of climbing out of the rut, I can change it into a furrow, and plant some seeds.
Mary Morrell is editor-in-chief of The Catholic Spirit, the Metuchen Diocese newspaper.
A Farmer’s Prayer
Lord of heaven and earth, keep the soil of the earth rich and abundant.
Whether we receive rain or sun, may the balance of nature always remain intact.
May the seed that is sown become food for the multitudes, a harvest that is plentiful, never wasted, always shared.
Keep me always determined to work the fields consistently, never to waver in my love of nature, maintaining and appreciating the fruit of the earth all the days of my life. In Jesus’ name, Amen.