Just An Old Fence Post
By Timothy W. Tron
Burke County
The headlamps illuminated their figures, erect, stoic, momentarily planted where they stood, each as distinctly different, one from another, standing guard, holding up the wire that was attached to their members. To each, three strands of barbed wire connected the confluence of wood, wire, and metal. The fence row, while assuming a straight line, was a mere approximation to that end. A wobble here, a tilt there, the intention had been sincere, but their placement in the ground was as good as it would get in the rocky soil, where the blade was encumbered by the glint of steel on stone whenever the hole was dug for each post. One could feel the back-breaking labor, see the imperfect structure, and know full well how challenging the endeavor could be. Some of the members were ancient, aged locusts taken from the forest, cut into the appropriate lengths, while others were T-posts purchased from the local farm supply store. The latter, with their rusted, worn, faded white tops above the barely visible forest green body, leaned as haphazardly as their nearby wooden neighbor. The wooden members, once strong boughs of timber, now aged, withered by the storms of life, did their best to fulfill their obligation to the fencerow. All, united by their common bond, provided the boundary between pasture and the road I was now driving along this dark, chilly morning in early March.
The momentary scene reminded me of humanity and how when we come together as one, we are stronger than when alone. Intrinsically, we seek those things that unite us, forming a community for which we inherently long. Wherever we are planted, we assume, begrudgingly or not, the role life has given us. Yet, it is when we come to realize that there is more to life than standing in place and holding up the wire that is fed to us, the daily grind, we become more than just a singular post in a long line of other misshapen, weathered posts. When we become Christians, we find a common thread, a trinity to which we are imbued; the three strands of wire become that symbol in the darkness. When we are awakened to the fact that we are part of something greater, it can become apparent that we were put in place not of our own accord but by something beyond evolutionary rhetoric; but rather, by the Master’s hand.
Still, even though we look toward that divine guidance in our lives, praying, reading God’s word, and sharing the Gospel with the world around us, we often miss the grand scheme. That purpose for which we were planted in that row of other malcontented posts, united by three strands, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, can sometimes overwhelm our ability to comprehend it all. We can only see as far as the next post. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t being used in a more providential role. Those animals remain in the pasture, kept separate from the dangers of the road only as long as the fence does its job. When we perform our roles in life with dedication, diligence, and perseverance, we are instantiating our position in God’s Kingdom. “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.”[1]
Anyone who has ever farmed and raised livestock can attest to the fact that one of the worst phone calls you can receive is the one in the middle of the night telling you that your cows are out. Instinctively, your stomach tightens, knowing the task at hand. Even scripture warns us of such behavior. “If a man causes a field or vineyard to be grazed and lets loose his animal, and it feeds in another man’s field, he shall make restitution from the best of his own field and the best.”[2] More than once, usually due to a storm causing a tree to fall, I’ve had to tend to a fence in the darkest of night, after rounding up the loose cattle, by the headlights of my truck in torrential rainfall. Yes, when it rains, it pours.
The point: Even a good fence can fail.
Life is full of unexpected twists and turns – we live in a fallen world. The storms can cause trees to fall across your fence, and suddenly, the purpose upon which you’ve based your life has been blown open by something beyond your control. That neighboring post has been made distant by a massive red oak that has come crashing down between you – or worse; it has taken out a row of multiple posts. It may feel as if those three strands that kept you connected have been broken, but just as the farmer mends his fence line, God likewise attends to our needs through our prayers, restoring us to the fullness of his glory and bringing his flock back into the safety of the confines of which we provide. Our fence line may not look the same once repaired, but its function is returned, often stronger than before. “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”[3]
The physical strands of life may break, but God’s spiritual provision never fails.
Usually, it isn’t until later in life, and sometimes not at all, that it becomes apparent what role we served in the grand scheme of God’s infinite design. As finite beings living in a finite world, we fail to understand the vast plan in which we are only a minute detail. Yet, we are an essential minute detail. Phillip Keller writes, “It takes some of us a lifetime to learn that Christ, our Good Shepherd, knows exactly what He is doing with us. He understands us perfectly.”[4]
Next, let us shift our perspective from being a single post to becoming all the posts at once. Take, for example, parts of the world where farmers grow livestock without fences. They call this “open range” grazing. There, they rely on shepherds to tend to their flocks and herds. The individual, the shepherd, becomes responsibly intertwined with those beasts for their safety and means of sustenance – keeping them on the good grass. “Happy are you who sow beside all waters, who let the feet of the ox and the donkey range free.”[5] The shepherd moves with the flock, sleeping when they sleep, rising and moving when they are ready to move. It has often been said that when farming, one can’t help but find God in everything you do. The same can be said even more of the person who actively tends to their flocks by day and by night.
The open ranges of the Alps in the northwest corner of Italy lend themselves to what David would have seen when writing the 23rd Psalm. There, high above the world on grassy slopes nestled between mountain tops that reach to the clouds, one can find itinerant herders tending to their flocks as they did over 2,000 years ago. Finding yourself in such a place, either physically or mentally, one can feel the scriptures come alive when David writes, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures. He restoreth my soul.” And suddenly, you realize, as you read this passage, as you imagine sitting on one of those alpine meadows, you’re no longer the fencepost; you’re no longer the shepherd. You are the one being kept. You have become the sheep in His fold, the one whom the Master Shepherd watches over. Again, to quote Phillip Keller, “To live in close communion with Christ is to experience daily the calm assurance of God’s complete care and management of every detail in our walk with Him.”[6]
Yes, we may only be able to see as far as the next post, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more to life. Suppose you are reading this story and find yourself alone in the world, perhaps questioning the existence of God. In that case, I encourage you to open your heart and mind, seeking a God who is loving, compassionate, and caring for you, whether you realize it or not. Stepping into his fold, you are then intertwined by the Holy Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. You become one of His, and you are no longer alone. You don’t have to be a lonely fence post. You don’t have to be stranded out in the cold on a hillside abandoned by the world. He accepts you just as you are, where you are.
We might be an old, wobbly fence post entangled with vines and briars, but we must remind ourselves that we serve a purpose beyond what we might comprehend. To know the feeling of walking along the grassy slopes of the mountainside being watched over by our LORD, our Shepherd, should allow us to lie down in green pastures, to sup the cool water from the still pools below the towering waterfalls, and to fall asleep to the sound of gentle breezed wafting under a starlit sky – our souls comforted beyond measure.
And as you do, may you fall asleep with these words on your lips: “Thanks be to God.”
[1] Colossians 3:23 KJV Bible
[2] Exodus 22:5 KJV Bible
[3] James 1:2-4 KJV Bible
[4] Lessons from a Sheep Dog (ed. Harper Collins, 2002) – ISBN: 9780849917653
[5] Isaiah 32:20 ESV Bible
[6] W. Phillip Keller, Strength of Soul: The Sacred Use of Time
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Timothy W. Tron lives in Collettsville, NC. with his family. He is currently the Systems Administrator for the Computer Science Department at App. State. Timothy is the former Director of the Trail of Faith in Valdese, where he still volunteers and helps with tours. He is the author of a new Christian series, “Children of the Light”, with the first book being, “Bruecke to Heaven”, revised as “Bridge to Heaven”, and his recent book, being the second, “The Light in the Darkness”. He is an active blogger, artist, and musician. Timothy also has a BSEE from UF, and is a Lay Speaker. He is currently acting as the Faculty/Staff Liaison for the Ratio Christi campus ministry at App. State. He can be reached at [email protected] You can visit his website at //www.timothywtron.com/ or see more of his writings HERE
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