Beautiful land, beautiful tractor

Some things require change. One hundred percent.

Like when my husband told me he wanted to buy a vintage tractor in New Jersey and haul it all the way to Arkansas to take care of some land his family owns there.

My response? “I’ve heard they sell tractors in Arkansas.” 🤣

And so began our adventure. We purchased a 1980s Ford diesel tractor, loaded it onto a U-Haul trailer, and headed south toward Arkansas. Everything was going smoothly until, about halfway through our first day of driving, we decided to make a pit stop at Buc-ee’s. If you’ve never heard of Buc-ee’s, I encourage you to look it up! These enormous Texas-born travel centers have taken road trips to a whole new level, offering everything from delicious barbecue and an overwhelming variety of merchandise to famously clean restrooms.

As we approached the exit ramp, however, the unmistakable sound of a flat tire interrupted our journey. We managed to get the trailer safely into the Buc-ee’s parking lot, and what we thought would be a quick fix, turned into hours of waiting for the right replacement tire to arrive. We took turns going inside Buc-ees to eat, shop and use the facilities while we waited on a technician. Finally, four or five hours later, the tire was changed and we found a hotel for the night so we could start fresh the next morning.

Eventually, we made it to Arkansas and delivered the tractor to the family farm.

The funny thing about change is that sometimes, when we’re in the middle of it, we don’t even recognize it for what it is. And even when we do, we rarely understand what it might mean for the road ahead. This farm is now in our care and with that comes responsibility.

The thing that gave me joy during these days, was to see the happiness on my husband’s face as he started up that tractor and took me for rides around the field. He was thoroughly enjoying himself and that made me happy.

Then came the next morning. We opened the garage door, and guess what? A flat tire on the front of the tractor! We took it to a nearby auto shop, the kind of place where they fix your tire, leave it outside with a note, saying you can pay them later, because they closed early to attend the county fair!

But the flat tires kept happening. And happening. I began to wonder if that first flat on the U-Haul trailer had been an omen of things to come. Maybe this tractor/farm adventure was going to be a whole lot more complicated than we had imagined.

As we talked with the locals, telling everyone from friends to the mail carrier about our ongoing tire troubles, we heard the same response over and over again. “Oh, you need a skid steer.”

“A skid steer? What the heck for?”

They explained that if the property was covered with locust trees, those wicked thorns had a way of finding their way into tires. Apparently, this was a well-known problem in the area. If we wanted to reclaim the land, we needed the right equipment to do the job.

By this point, we had spent days dealing with flat tires, and it was time to head back home to New Jersey. But my husband wasn’t about to let a few thorns defeat him. He rented a skid steer, and the next time we returned to Arkansas, he got to work.

After many years the property was finally being cleared the right way with the right equipment. Little by little, the land was reclaimed. The fields opened, the beauty of the property began to emerge, and the family land looked beautiful again.

Sometimes, reclaiming something beautiful requires us to work through a lot of thorns.

I think that’s true of life, too.

I find change incredibly difficult sometimes. Seasons of change seem to sweep over us like the wind. There can be a gentleness to them, but there can also be thorns. The road is rarely smooth or predictable. Loss and change are a lot like that. We may know it’s coming, but when it arrives, the waves can still knock us off our feet. We struggle to understand why things happen the way they do, and we may wonder how anything good could possibly come from the pain.

Perhaps part of the answer lies in changing our perspective.

Instead of insisting that life unfold according to our plans, we can learn to loosen our grip, allow change to happen, and trust God with the outcome. That doesn’t mean change won’t hurt or that we’ll always understand it. It means believing that even when we cannot see the whole picture, God can.

He has good plans for us. His blessings don’t always arrive in the ways we expect, and sometimes the path toward something beautiful takes us through a field full of thorns.

But God is not finished with us.

Just as the Arkansas property could be cleared and restored, we, too, can experience renewal. God can bring beauty out of brokenness, hope out of sorrow, and new beginnings out of seasons of loss we never would have chosen.

And for those who believe in Him, there is an even greater promise ahead: an eternity with Him, where all the struggles of this life will one day be over and we will be fully restored. No more thorns. No more loss. No more painful seasons of change. Only the beauty of His presence and the promise of a life made whole.

Until then, perhaps we can learn to trust Him with the journey, even when the tires go flat and the road takes longer than expected and thorns get in our way. Because, sometimes, the most beautiful restoration is wiating to happen within us.

Beautiful land. Beautiful tractor. And a beautiful reminder that God is always at work, even in a season of change.