Yesterday And Tomorrow, Today

OPENING – THE CROOKED FURROW

I was fifteen the summer an old farmer in Tennessee handed me the biggest responsibility I’d ever had.

“Take the tractor,” he said, “and plow that field.”

It was no small patch of ground. Thirty acres of Tennessee red clay stretched behind the barn, rolling gently toward a tree line that shimmered in the July heat. The air smelled of honeysuckle, diesel, and dust.

The tractor was an old two-cylinder John Deere — green paint faded, one fender dented, seat worn shiny. When I turned the key, it started with that unmistakable rhythm that every farm boy still hears in his sleep: putt… putt… putt…

I eased forward to the edge of the field and pulled the lever. The plow sank with a grunt, and the sound changed — a deeper roar, the sound of hard work being done. Fresh earth curled over itself in clean red ribbons. I watched it, proud of the dark line trailing behind me.

But after a while curiosity got the better of me. I turned to admire my progress — and when I finally looked forward again, I realized the barn wasn’t where it should be. My rows wandered across the field like a lazy snake.

The farmer saw it, too. He came walking from the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, smiling that half-amused, half-pitying smile that only men with a lifetime of straight furrows can manage. He climbed up on the step and shouted over the engine:

“Son, you can’t drive a straight furrow looking behind you.

Pick a fence post or a tree on the far side.

Keep your eyes on that — and don’t take ’em off.”

I nodded, cheeks burning. But I never forgot it.

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I. THE WAY · FAITH · YESTERDAY

Rehearsing God’s past saving action

That day in the field turned into a parable. I didn’t know it then, but the first lesson of faith is learning where to look.

Faith isn’t about perfection; it’s about direction.

You can’t move forward if your gaze is always behind you.

We all have crooked furrows in our past — regrets, detours, losses, choices we wish we could plow again.

Some people live their whole lives staring at them, measuring, comparing, wishing.

But faith doesn’t live by regret. Faith learns to fix its eyes on something that doesn’t move.

That’s what the Israelites had to learn in the wilderness. Every time they looked back toward Egypt, they lost their way. But when they fixed their eyes on the pillar of cloud by day and the fire by night, they found their direction again.

> “We have nothing to fear for the future, except as we shall forget the way the Lord has led us, and His teaching in our past history.” (Life Sketches, p. 196)

Forgetfulness is the quiet enemy of faith.

Faith rehearses God’s past saving action — the Red Seas He parted, the deserts He watered, the crooked furrows He somehow turned to harvest.

When you remember how God has led you, gratitude steadies your hands on the wheel.

You still see the stumbles, but you also see the grace between them.

Faith looks back without being trapped there.

It sees that even yesterday’s uneven rows belong to the same field of mercy.

Jesus doesn’t erase your yesterdays — He redeems them.

He is the Way that makes the journey make sense — the fixed point on the far horizon keeping your life true.

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Yesterday…

The word itself carries a sigh.

We all have one.

The Beatles sang,

> “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…”

But most of us remember our yesterdays differently — a mixture of sweet and bitter, triumph and failure, the smell of good earth and the sting of blisters.

Faith looks back differently.

It doesn’t rewrite the past; it redeems it.

It sees where God showed up in the middle of our half-done stories.

When I think of that Tennessee field now, I don’t see embarrassment; I see instruction.

A boy learning that life doesn’t go straight just because you want it to.

Direction comes from fixing your eyes on something that doesn’t move — and for the believer, that something is Someone.

Faith remembers God’s footprints behind us and trusts His presence ahead.

That’s the song of yesterday — its melody still hums under the noise of today.

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II. THE TRUTH · HOPE · TOMORROW

Rehearsing God’s promises

If faith rehearses God’s past saving action,

hope rehearses His promises — the ones not yet visible but already true.

Yesterday teaches you to remember;

tomorrow invites you to believe again.

When I was younger, I thought tomorrow would always be easier — that someday the furrows of life would all line up straight, that I’d pray enough, plan enough, know enough to stop wandering.