Years ago, my paternal grandfather taught me about the benefits of lying fallow. It is an agrarian term, meaning to leave alone for a period of time a piece of land typically used to grow produce. Simply put, it is the act of not sowing seed. Let the field grow as it may. No planting. No fertilizing. No weeding. Nothing. The idea is to let a piece of land naturally replenish itself. Rest. Not be worked. Be. Grandfather shared this idea with me at time in my life when I was all about doing, running from task to task, doing my best to get it all done. It was a busy time, indeed. I was taking classes, preparing to take more, and strategizing about how the beginning of my career would look. I was, in a phrase, getting ready to launch, which is why Grandfather’s advice came at the right time. My work as a college professor involves leading and even joining my students in mentally wrestling with ideas, but it also involves a good deal of advising. Many times, it is not the text that matters so much as it is why my students are studying the text at all. Students are, of course, more than just minds; they are individuals with hopes and aspirations. A true educator knows this to be true. We mold the whole human being, not just the brain. We help them to become better versions of themselves in all their facets. All of this is to say that I have had many students who do not want to be in class. They are not quite ready for the workforce, and the military was never really an option, so they enroll in college, forgetting that their experience in high school was lackluster. This explains the quiet hostility I sometimes receive from those who are in class only because they did not know what else to do with their lives. They will show up late, if at all. Scroll mindlessly on their cell phones. Nod off. Neglect to turn in any work. And, I hasten to say, stand dumbfounded when they inevitably fail the class. They ask, Why? I ask, Why? right back at them. And if they do not take careful stock of themselves, then all of that time has been wasted, and the college experience takes on a bitter flavor. It happens every year. I have grown to sympathize with these students because I know what society demands of them. Society wants constant action, constant success. It is a go-go-go existence that leaves no room to take a breath and reflect. This is where the concept of lying fallow can potentially become an absolute necessity. Before I turned the page on one chapter of my life and began writing the next, I took some down time; I allowed myself to lie fallow. I have to wonder if this wouldn’t benefit so many of my students as well. How would it positively impact a student for them to lie fallow for a season? Would they be replenished? Recharged? Would they have a better understanding of what they are being called to be, called to do in their lives? For me, the answer is yes. But what would lying fallow look like for you, dear listeners? How are we hurried? How are we inhibited from pausing to reflect on the state of our lives, where we are going, what we might like to do? Time can be a tyrant. We only have so much of it, so the tendency is to want to fill it with accomplishment after accomplishment. We try to use our time wisely, but is it always the prudent thing to be active 24/7? My grandfather did not think so. Good farmers do not think so. And I have come to agree with them both. Even in scripture, we are called to observe a sabbath day. It was never a random demand. To be sure, it is a demand that has our best interests in mind. We were not created to be bitter or constantly tired or perpetually harried. We were created to be. Human beings, not human doings. You have no doubt seen the concept before. So identify an area where you might be stymied. And let the weeds grow. Let the rains fall. Do not take your plow to it. It is not yet ready. The direction you seek will come in its own good time.
