Do You Allow for Fallow Seasons?
I am not a farmer. The total breadth of my farming knowledge comes from two experiences: growing up next to farms in the Midwest and visiting my grandparents.
As a child, I knew we were approaching my grandparents’ house when lush, white cotton fields sprawled on either side of the road as far as the eye could see. I spent my second-grade year living next to a cotton field. Watching the farmer who lived down the dirt road from us plant, cultivate, and harvest the cotton was a delight.
In Illinois, my closest neighbor was a cornfield. Much to my parents’ chagrin, I found it a preteen wonderland. The corn stood a good three feet above my head, providing an ideal location for games of hide-and-seek with my brother on summer nights.
I noticed something about both those fields and the harvest they produced. While I looked forward to another year of enjoying the process of the cotton being birthed within its boil and the stalks of corn growing taller and taller, neither of those things happened.
The year after the cotton captivated me, the field was allowed to lie “fallow.” After a year of playing in the corn came a year of watching cows munch on hay in what had been the cornfield.
My dad explained this to me as “crop rotation,” necessary and important for the life of the plants as well as the field. You see, if the farmer plants the same crops year after year, the ground will become depleted of vital nutrients. Pests will learn where their favorite meals are and set up camp. In short, the land will “tire.” Rotating plants puts nourishment back into the soil, and every once in a while, the ground needs a break.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those fields lately—about cotton, corn, fallow, hay, and more. They taught me something valuable, something I’d forgotten to walk out in my own life.
I need seasons of rest and rotations too.
The modern Christian church seems to teach us to “Go, go, go!” I sometimes feel guilty if I’m not serving each time the church doors are open, not available for every night of the week. This is what it is to be a “good Christian,” right? I mean, doesn’t Jesus want me to volunteer for every event my church has until I drop? Even if I’m exhausted, cranky, and rarely see my family?
What if the fallow seasons put nutrients back in the soil? What if in some seasons we are absolutely called to serve on that team, to work in the nursery, or to volunteer in youth and to teach that class, but in some seasons we need to rotate the crops so we don’t strip the soil of our hearts? What if in some seasons we need to be still and rest, simply connecting with Jesus, family, and little else?
Not long ago, I had a season where no matter how hard I tried, regardless of how much I prayed, I couldn’t get as connected as I wanted to at church. For the first time in my life, I didn’t serve in any capacity. I simply went to church and left. I hated it.
Over time, I found I had increased focus on my marriage and parenting, which yielded incredible results. In time, I was able to step back into serving from a place of fullness. Looking back, this “fallow” season was what I needed, even though it was uncomfortable.
Yes, we are called to be active, productive members of the body of Christ, but the soil of our hearts needs rotation and rest.
What season are you in? Has the soil been stripped of nutrients? Are you trying to produce a harvest while the ground is starved? Is it time to make a rotation? Do you need a fallow season? If so, take the time you need, so that in due season you can step back in from a place of fullness and joy.
is wife to Ryan and mother to Hayden, Julie, and Avery. She is a writer, goofball, and avid reader. Stacey has ministered for over 15 years to youth and women in her community in order to equip them to go deeper in Christ. She blogs at aliferepaired.com and chronicallywhole.com.
Photograph © Rodion Kutsaev, used with permission
