Across the road, for as far as the eye can see, stands corn. It’s dry and shriveled and scantly reminiscent of the image that comes to mind when one thinks of a field of corn. Yet, corn it is; corn destined to be used for animal feed or human food or fuel. Its purpose has been decided upon by the man who planted it.
That’s how things work in agriculture. The one who sets the seed is the one who brings his crop to the market of his choice. It’s neat and tidy and mildly enviable. Another agriculture-rooted cliché comes to mind: cut and dried.
We humans, meanwhile, are set onto the same rich soil and given an opportunity to take root. The trouble is that it isn’t always easy to discern where best to apply the energy inherent in our genetics. No one is sitting up on a tractor deciding for us; our purpose on earth isn’t cut and dried. Are we meant for food? Are we better used as fuel?
Corn that’s converted to ethanol is corn that doesn’t end up in the food system. Corn that ends up in processed foods strengthens our commodity-based food system, but doesn’t do much to advance human nutrition or aid the nation in its quest to become “independent” of foreign oil. Therefore, even when purpose is predetermined, as it is with corn, some are satisfied and others are left wanting.
Humans are endowed with far greater potential than plants, of course, and so solving the “why am I here” dilemma seems far more pressing than clearing cornfields. The withering stalks remind me daily that winter, a vivid metaphor for aging – for death, is nipping at my heels. I must be getting on with this business of deciding how to live with purpose.
A man I knew once was fond of saying the easiest way to get to Heaven is to not sin. This is not useful advice. Between here and there you can plant a whole lot of corn.
My friend from grammar school reminds me that our purpose in life is to “know and love and serve God.” She’s right, of course, but she omitted the part of the answer that lies at the root of my search. I understand that my existence must serve a greater good and Truth (capital T); what I’ve been unable to put my finger on is what route I should take to get there, because I can’t take her route, or my neighbor’s route, or my colleague’s route, or the “no sin” route favored by the man mentioned above.
It seems there must be a million roads that can carry a person toward knowing and loving and serving God. I’m not looking for the easy road. I’m not looking for the fast road. I’m not looking for the less-traveled road. I’m not looking for the high road and I’m not even looking for a new road. I’m looking for my road, the route that lets me travel at my pace and allows for the fact that I hate maps and so I tend to get myself lost an awful lot.
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