Field Notes of the Soul
I believe that there is one story in the world, and only one, that has been writing itself over and over again—one story. The story of good and evil.”
There’s a farm road I take when I need to cross town and I’m not in a hurry. It skirts the city, wrapping around it gently, and deposits me where I need to be. There are many things on this farm road.
There’s an old sign shop with “JUNK” splashed across the yard. There’s a big red barn—metal and modern, but designed to look like something out of a North Carolina postcard. There’s a row of country homes, spaced so widely apart you couldn’t walk door-to-door without turning it into a day trip. You have to drive to visit all your neighbors out here.
One of those houses catches my eye every time. The yard is cluttered with used cars and trailers. The owner clearly sells trailers, maybe even builds them. I can see the large metal building way in the back of the property—his workshop. It reminds me of my father. He built trailers in his garage, too. He built railings, worked on cars, created things from scratch. His hands were never still.
But I think about this man now, the trailer-seller, and his neighbors. The homes flanking his are neat and manicured, with green lawns and white fences made of old oilfield pipe—a crude material turned elegant by effort and paint. The trailer man’s fence is rusted and brown, like the rest of his property. I wonder how his neighbors feel.
We can't choose our neighbors. We can only be patient with them. I try to be a good neighbor. I suppose that matters. After all, we wouldn’t want everyone to be exactly like us. The differences test our patience. They shape our character. No man is an island.
We need our culture. We need our people. We need our worker bees and queen bees. We need our ditch diggers and maybe even our politicians. More than anything, we need the Kingdom.
Under the Kingdom, people will learn to be kind. If someone builds trailers in their yard, they'll do it with care. And if they don’t, neighbors will speak with grace instead of letting resentment brew.
I’m passing a house now that’s under construction. The roof deck is up, felt paper waiting for shingles. I can see the toe boards nailed across the steep pitch—the same kind I used when I was a roofer.
I remember those days. It feels like yesterday. I knew the work so well. Even now, I could get out of the car, pick up a bundle of shingles and a hammer, and by afternoon I’d have a good-sized portion of roof done. And yet, I’m not a roofer anymore. We aren’t always what we once were, even if the knowledge never leaves us.
Some of us were once lost, and now try to do good. But we still hold the capacity for bad. We may still desire it. Sometimes it slips out in moments of passion. When does that make us wicked? Only if we willingly choose the wrong we know to be wrong. Perhaps that was Lot’s wife’s failure.
Maybe she didn’t look back out of weakness. Maybe she was simply honest. She didn’t want to leave. Her life was there. Her home. Her identity. Was it so wrong to mourn what she was being pulled from? The Bible says she became a pillar of salt. We think of that as punishment. But maybe it was mercy.
Maybe God knew she wouldn’t survive the wilderness. Maybe turning her to salt spared her a different kind of death. Maybe it was the kindest thing. The hand of flaming fire and hailstone never touched her. Maybe that was the best ending she could have. As a bonus, we get a lesson on faithfulness.
I think about that as I drive. I think about myself. I ask a question I wrote the other day: If I am becoming her. I keep looking back. I can’t seem to stop. I keep desiring, wanting. I’ve lost things—goals, faith, the hope of being someone respected. A man of standing. A man of God.
Can I reclaim those things?
No doubt—no doubt.
But the real question is:
do I want to?
Luke 19:29-44
29 And when he got near to Bethʹpha·ge and Bethʹa·ny at the mountain called Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, 30 saying: “Go into the village that is within sight, and after you enter it, you will find a colt tied, on which no man has ever sat. Untie it and bring it here. 31 But if anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ you must say, ‘The Lord needs it.’” 32 So those who were sent went away and found it just as he had said to them. 33 But as they were untying the colt, its owners said to them: “Why are you untying the colt?” 34 They said: “The Lord needs it.” 35 And they led it to Jesus, and they threw their outer garments on the colt and seated Jesus on it.36 As he moved along, they were spreading their outer garments on the road. 37 As soon as he got near the road down the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and to praise God with a loud voice because of all the powerful works they had seen, 38 saying: “Blessed is the one coming as the King in Jehovah’s name! Peace in heaven, and glory in the heights above!” 39 However, some of the Pharisees from the crowd said to him: “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” 40 But in reply he said: “I tell you, if these remained silent, the stones would cry out.”
41 And when he got nearby, he viewed the city and wept over it, 42 saying: “If you, even you, had discerned on this day the things having to do with peace—but now they have been hidden from your eyes. 43 Because the days will come upon you when your enemies will build around you a fortification of pointed stakes and will encircle you and besiege you from every side. 44 They will dash you and your children within you to the ground, and they will not leave a stone upon a stone in you, because you did not discern the time of your being inspected.”
45 Then he entered the temple and started to throw out those who were selling, 46 saying to them: “It is written, ‘My house will be a house of prayer,’ but you have made it a cave of robbers.”
47 He continued teaching daily in the temple. But the chief priests and the scribes and the principal ones of the people were seeking to kill him; 48 but they did not find any way to do this, for the people one and all kept hanging on to him to hear him.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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