Tractor pulls, corn dogs, and carnival rides. It was fair time in Cheatham County so I took my nephews for a night of fun at the fair. Soon after we arrived, they met up with friends and left me to wander the midway alone. So much for being the cool aunt. I had been replaced by pretty little girls with blonde hair and short shorts. A crushing blow to my ego.

The main event of the night was the tractor pull. For all those living above the Mason-Dixon Line or in a city with a population greater than one thousand, a tractor pull is a competitive sport where souped up farm tractors see who can pull the most weight the farthest distance. As I sat on the bleachers by myself, the smell of freshly turned dirt, diesel fuel and funnel cakes filled the air, a combination that definitely helped curb my craving for the powdered sugar covered delight my mouth had been watering for since I saw the carnival pull into town a week ago. I watched as the drivers of these tractors equipped with chrome, mud tires and brightly colored paint jobs surveyed the track.

Some of the tractors flew across the mud track with ease and some barely made it halfway. As I watched, I thought about how some days I was the tractor that had the fancy orange and red flames on the side with chrome mud guards that made it down the track cheered on by the crowd with such ease barely muddying the tires like he wasn’t even attached to the trailer filled with weight. Other days, I was the wore out model that buckled under the load spinning and spewing mud into the grandstands hardly making it past the starting point giving up and going home mad. And some days, I was the modest John Deere model with the traditional green and yellow paint job, not fancy but familiar, starting slow, gaining speed making it down the track hook sliding into the finish line to the gasp of the onlookers, astonished he didn’t take someone out as he finished. This tractor had made it. Not the fastest run, not the easiest run and certainly not be prettiest but he had made it across the finish line hauling a heavy load.

Which tractor would I be today? Could I bear the weight of the load I was carrying?

Who would have thought I could get so philosophical at a tractor pull? Probably had something to do with all the pink cotton candy dust floating in the air. That or the diesel fumes.

Matthew 11:28-30 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.