Harvest

I was walking along a dirt road one summer day, contemplating life when I noticed some things I never had before. Stopping suddenly I looked around. Surrounding me were acres and acres of fields, lush green grassy fields. Above each field stood a large sign, similar to a billboard, each one displaying one name. "Jesse", "Cory", "Victoria" and "Rebecca" were just some of the large print names above the fields. I took my time walking along the rows, for each field was about the size of a football field. There were people, many people, running back and forth along these rows. Confused as to what they were doing I stopped at "Peter" and asked one of the men.
"What is everyone doing running around the fields? Is it some sort of game?"
"Oh no," replied the man, "We are busy. Very busy. Affecting others."
"What's your name sir?" I asked, curious as to what he meant.
"Charlie." He said, pointing to the name tag sitting neatly over his heart.
"Charlie, isn't that your field over there?" I said pointing to a field in the far distance, which from my point of view seemed rather unoccupied. He nodded.
"Shouldn't you be working on your own field?"
He shook his head with a frown and ran off, continuing to dig, plant and water on "Peter".
Still slightly confused, I continued to walk, noticing more and more that none of the name tags correlated with the fields.
I stopped a couple fields down, and watched "Stanley" running back and forth, faster than anyone else across his own field.
"Stanley!" I yelled, attempting to get his attention. He ran over to me, out of breath and red from the sun.
"What?" He asked, frustrated that one would ask him to stop.
"Why are you working so hard on your own field?"
"The work will never be finished here. I can't possibly work on others until mine is perfect. And with you stopping me, now it might never be. Don't distract me again. My field must be better than the others."
His attitude must have been the basis for why no one else was on his field, I reasoned.
Finally I arrived at one where both the person and the field had the same name, Christine. She was not hurrying like many of the others, but taking her time, planting with care. She smiled and walked over once she saw me standing at the edge.
"Hello." She said simply.
"Hi Christine. Why are you working on your own field?"
"Why should I work on others? I can't give them anything worth growing for until my own is planted."
There were a couple people on her field. Some were planting weeds, others beautiful flowers.
"Who's that man over there? The one going back and forth. And why is he uprooting some of the plants?"
"Him?" she asked, pointing to a man on her field. "Oh he's the owner. He's here everyday, harvesting that which is good, and plucking that which is bad."
"Why doesn't he go to any of the other fields?"
"The workers don’t want him." She replied, "These fields are our lives, all that we live for. And yet they won't allow him to go through and nurture the good and pluck the bad. You see stranger, the more we get absorbed into our own work, and the more we want others to see what we can do. But the harder we try, the messier our own fields get. We either spend too much time on our own and never help others, or we spend to much time on others and slack on our own. But the owner, he comes by and helps. It is He who causes the growth."
With a nod she turned away and returned to work. The man in the corner looked up at me and motioned with his eyes a little ways up. I followed his gaze to see a field. Empty; no one was on it, a clean slate. And above, on the billboard was my name. Now standing beside me was the owner. Taking my hand in his he asked me one question,

“Will you let me harvest your life?”

-Taken from 1 Corinthians 3:7