THANKFUL

God must become greater in my life; I must become less as I submit to his Lordship. —John 3:30 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Little by Little”

An east coast newspaper reporter was sent to “flyover country” to write a story about the little people who lived such mundane lives. He arrived in some midwestern podunk  town, rented a car and took off to explore the backward ways of a forgotten America. The endless plains of wheat fields dotted with red barns and silos and John Deere tractors looked alike to him.

The journalist spotted a farmer plowing and he pulled over onto the dirt road. He carefully high-stepped over the pie-looking objects scattered around the field. I’ve never seen these in Central Park. Oh, the horrors if his Gucci shoes or skinny jeans were soiled.

***

What in the world is this? The sweaty old farmer eyed the approaching whippersnapper suspiciously. I ain’t never seen such a delicate fellow with a man-bun in this part of the country. He ain’t no farm hand looking for a job, that’s for sure. He climbed off the tractor and put a pinch between his gum and lip.

***

The reporter eyed the farmer suspiciously. So—this is what flyover people look like? He put on a fake smile and extended his hand. How can this hick be seen in public without designer overalls or at least a Rodeo Avenue bandana? Ooooowwww.

The reporter introduced himself. This country bumpkin probably never vacations in the Hamptons. While making small talk, the reporter suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. What? This smelly farm atmosphere is playing tricks with my mind.

A humongous hog waddled by the tractor.

“That pig has two wooden legs,” he said. “What happened to that hog?”

“Oh, that.” The farmer spit tobacco within an inch of the columnist’s shoes. “Well, I was a-plowing one day, and the danged tractor fell over inna ditch and rolled over on top of me. Broke both my arms.” The farmer spit again, the reporter backed up. “That hog lifted the tractor, pulled me out, set my broken arms and called 911.”

“Wow! That’s how he lost his legs?” the reporter said.

“Naw, that wasn’t it. One night the barn caught fire, and I was helpless with my arms broken. That hog led all the cows out of the barn to safety, and saved the entire dairy herd. Then he pulled the water hose out to fight the fire with the fire department.”

“Amazing! That’s how he lost his legs?” The reporter wrote furiously on his iPad.

“Oh, no. Not even close,” he said. “Last spring, I had a massive heart attack. This pig loaded me onto the tractor, gave me CPR while he drove the tractor to town, got me to the ER and saved my life.”

“And that’s how the hog lost his legs, right?”

“No!” The farmer said. He seemed exasperated with the reporter’s ignorance. “Didn’t you learn nuthin’ at that big fancy college back east?” He spat again. “Everybody knows—it’s just common sense—you don’t eat a pig like that all at once.”

Isn’t that how life goes? We eat the pig little by little?

Although the Israelites were porkless in the Promise Land, they conquered their enemies to take possession of the land a little at a time. God is a big God and could have wiped out the opposition in an instant, but God needed to go “little” with the Israelites, for their own good.

With all aspects of life, success is achieved little by little. We cannot start at the top in whatever we attempt. An athlete becomes an all-pro a little at a time. Business people make wise decisions after they gained marketplace experience a little at a time. The pianist who starts with “Chop Sticks” evolves into a concert pianist a little at a time. A retirement nest egg grows substantially a little by little. Goals are obtained by taking little steps, experiencing the necessary ups and downs.

When we come to Christ, much needs to change in us to make us like him. In his wisdom, he knows we cannot absorb everything he wants to change all at once. Instead, he takes us on a never-ending journey of faith, a little step at a time. It’s called sanctification. He takes us through trials to refine us deeper into his character. Little by little, our old self disappears. And little by little, our new self, made in Christ’s image, emerges.

Who, besides your humble Aggie scribe, relates to the following?

Strange, isn’t it? This new love for people was not a part of my old nature. Lord, you know that weird guy in the department who just doesn’t fit in, and that obnoxious opinionated coworker, and that rebellious teen, and those other misfits—thank you for showing me how to love them like you do. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Never thought I would see this day. Those activities that I spilled all my energies into are no longer important to me. Lord, I make you number one. I now prioritize those activities as how they affect my adventures with you. Most of those activities had no eternal value. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Now this is a change. What happened to that hothead I used to be? You remember that guy? Quick to profane that which I thought as an assault on my lifestyle—ungodly as it was. “No one’s gonna tell me what to do.” Lord, my desire is to be obedient as I make you Lord of my soul. I will follow your word daily. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Something’s happened. I’m no longer fearful of what others think of me. Friends treat me differently since I started talking about this Jesus guy. Lord, what counts is what you think of me . . . and you think of me as your own beloved child. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Lord, may this be everyone’s prayer: More of you and less of me as you transform me into your image to achieve my God-given destiny.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. “What’s gonna happen to the pig when you take the two front legs? the reporter asked.

“Well, that’s obvious,” the farmer said. “The pig will identify as a groundhog.”

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

 

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