To the Field, one more time

          

Almost a year ago, I wrote about our family’s visits to the farm where the movie, Field of Dreams, was filmed—never expecting to be there again just last week as we made our way through Iowa after going to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.  That earlier blog post ended as follows:

From all around the world, thousands have visited the movie site since the summer it played in theaters.  Lovers of baseball, people drawn to the simple values of a simpler time and place and a chance to go back and make something right from the past—the movie, stirs many feelings, prompting people to make their pilgrimages to this place where “dreams come true”--  or, where impossibilities can happen because someone “hears” God’s voice and believes.  Mother Theresa puts it this way:  “May we not forget the infinite possibilities born of faith.”

However at times, it does feel like someone or something is trying to squeeze and squish that hope, that dream, that expectation of impossibilities born of faith out of every fiber of our being.  Thus, the importance of remembering, refilling or refueling our “earthen vessels” with what only God can supply: the kind of hope and faith, though coming from the tiniest of seeds, that is powerful enough to fight off fatigue, discouragement, and weariness of body and soul as we run the race and fight the good fight of faith in this life.

               Last night, after considering the DVDs in our home collection, we settled on popping in The Field of Dreams and choosing some of our favorite scenes.  Although we know—and love—many of the lines by heart, there is power and joy in reviewing the story of the farmer who did something completely illogical and financially risky by following “the voice” he first heard in his corn field.  I was reminded of the obstacles and scorn he faced once he cleared part of the profitable cornfields and used his savings to build a ball field in the middle of nowhere.  I was also reminded of the confirming support he received from others, including his wife, and the continued guidance he heard from “the voice,”   whose last message was to “go the distance.” 

               The Mayo Clinic is a very well-run enterprise where bright and mostly caring doctors, residents, and technical staff listen to your “stories” and descriptions of your symptoms, and then line up further testing and consultations with additional doctors mostly in a few days’ time.  Finally, the overseeing doctor sends you home with information—in my case a confirmation of two possible neurological disorders which have no medical cures, and some newly identified tears and problems in my hips.

Returning to the field on a windy and cold November day was for me, a return to ways and possibilities not covered in the world of science and medicine.  A return to hope that doesn’t disappoint because it comes from God Himself and is maintained and guarded by Him as we walk the road of faith (Romans 5:3-5).   Clearly, it is time to “go the distance” and receive the blessings God prepares for those who love Him and believe He is still the God who acts in compassion by renewing our hope and healing our minds and bodies just as Jesus did when He walked among us.