A. Ray Lee

Columnist

On a recent Saturday when the temperature was hovering around 99 degrees with a heat index nearing 110, I opened heavy drapes which were blocking the sun just enough to see grandson Henry mowing around the trees in my backyard where cotton once grew. In the three hours it would take him to finish the entire lawn he would stop and visit the refrigerator for a drink of cold water and sit with me for a few moments in the air-conditioned house, and then return to the job and keep mowing until the yard was neatly trimmed. He had driven over from Florence and was determined to finish before he returned home regardless of his discomfort.

His persistence brought back memories of when I was a boy working in the cotton fields under similar conditions. We were in the field by the time the sun had peeped over the eastern horizon. The only respite was a brief dinner break and rest before returning to what seemed to a young boy were never-ending rows of cotton plants with weeds and grass to be removed. At times blistering, the heat felt unbearable as the sun lased through my old straw hat and baked the soil until it was hot enough to burn my bare feet. By mid-afternoon I prayed for sundown to come.

Little did I understand at the time the lesson I was learning about life. The cotton had to be cultivated and tended during the growing season or the harvest would be greatly diminished. The goal of our labor would not be realized for months until the cotton had been picked. Payday would not come until then. Meanwhile, we needed to work by faith through the wearing days believing the harvest would reward our labor.

At age of seventeen I left the farm behind to prepare for a Christian vocation. I spent the next eight years in college and seminary seeking knowledge and academic degrees to enhance whatever ministry opened for me. Those were days of intense studies and work as I sought the will of the Lord for my life. They were not easy. There were many sleepless nights working a late shift to pay the costs of education followed by struggles to remain alert in class. Countless books to be read and endless papers to be written left little spare time. It seemed I was always exhausted in mind and body.

I was a few weeks short of my 25th birthday when I exited the halls of academia in 1962 without finding an opening in any ministry for me. It would be six more months before a small church contacted me to come as their pastor. I could tell you those were years of learning how to live by faith, but I would not be honest if I did not confess those were weary years. Sometimes I asked myself would there ever be a time when I would not be tired or weary.

I asked that question numerous time times in a lifetime of ministry, but I discovered the truth of the scriptures and learned to rely upon them. Of God’s grace I have reaped abundantly.

“Let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap if we faint not.” (Galatians 6:9)