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My Grandfather was a hardworking,
custom combine operator. He worked long hard hours. Life was never easy
for him, I don't think he ever wanted an easy life. My Grandmother? Now
that's another story. She tried to live a pampered life on the road. Grandlady
insisted that Grumps buy her an air conditioned Pontiac for her to drive
as they drove the harvest trail from Texas to Montana. Grumps was more
comfortable in his Chevy truck with the gun rack on the back window.
One summer, my Grandparents
followed the harvest through the community where my family lived. I have
very pleasant memories of that trip. We visited with my Grandlady in her
trailer and ate at "The Green Frog Cafe," with my Grumps.
I also have some unpleasant
memories of the visit. One hot, windy summer day, Grumps invited me to
ride on his combine with him. This was not one of those luxury "Jonnie
poppers," (his term for John Deere Tractors with air conditioned cabs)
we were riding high on his red Massey. No air conditioning, no cab, no
options . . . just a plain ole "working man's" machine.
The day began with a burning
pride. I was proud of my Grumps, I loved being with him. He let me play
in the grain bin, and even steer the machine. After a few hours, I was
through, ready to go home. My pride turned to burning scratches. I learned
an important lesson that day, you don't scratch the chaff itches, they
only get worse.
I begged Grumps to take me
home, he didn't. After all, he was a working man with a job to do. He let
me off the Combine to sit in the truck waiting for nightfall.
The itching was unbearable,
I couldn't wait to get home. When we arrived, I ran to the bathroom and
took the best, hottest bath in the world. I was the first 10 year old in
the history of mankind that ever wanted to take a bath. Why? The filth
of the field was so great, I had to get clean.
Purity . . . it is a real
blessing to those who know the pain of filth. "Blessed are the pure
in heart: for they shall see God." (Matthew 5:8)