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It was summer, 1949. Grand Dad Quinn was plowing under the remains of freshly-cut wheat, preparing the soil for the upcoming season. I was his five-year-old sidekick.
Shedding my shoes, I ran up and down the furrows. Oh, how I loved newly-plowed fields—the fresh smell of overturned soil, and the cool feel of it coming up between my toes. Only one thing could be better. I wanted to drive that tractor!
“Grand Dad, when do I get to plow?”
“Son, you may plow when you can start this tractor.”
I surveyed the obstacle before me. We had named the big green machine—so strong and tough—Samson. It was an Oliver-80 tractor, and operating it was my dream. Grand Dad never seemed to have trouble starting Samson with the hand-crank, so I spit on my palms to get a better grip and grabbed the crank. Putting all my weight on it, I pushed— grunting until my face reddened. The handle refused to budge.
I challenged that hand-crank repeatedly over the next couple of years. Unmoved by my efforts,  Samson did not respond. That is, not until I reached 8-years old. It took all the strength I could muster, but—finally—that old hand-crank turned. The motor sputtered and then began to rumble. Yippee! It was my turn to drive Samson and pull the one-way plow.
Under my grandfather’s watchful eye, I got behind the wheel and put the tractor in gear. My heart raced as I started across the field. I anxiously looked back over my shoulder to see how I was doing, then forward again to see where I was headed. Back and forth, I turned my focus, trying to produce a straight furrow. Reaching the end of the half-mile field, I was about to burst with pride.
Hopping off the tractor, I jumped into the pickup with Grand Dad and we drove to the point where I had started. As we reviewed the results of my labor, my heart sunk! This was unacceptable. I had plowed an S-shaped furrow into the soil.
“Grand Dad, how do I plow a straight path?” My voice trembled with disappointment.
“Son, find a target at the end of the field and focus your eyes on that. Don’t look back. You will see that you will plow a straight path.”
For my next pass through, I picked a large Oak tree and kept my eyes focused on it the entire way. When we evaluated my second try, I was amazed to see how perfectly straight the furrow was—and all because I kept my eyes focused on that tree!
Grandfather’s lesson was easy to remember in the fields. But, it took me a good number of years to recognize his instructions had a spiritual application, too. The path of my earlier life was less than perfectly straight. I often zigged when I should have zagged, looking forward, then back—forward and back. Finally, God captured my attention and directed me to the object on which I should focus.
“Son, keep your eyes on the tree—the Cross of Calvary,” my heavenly Father impressed upon me. “Focus on Him who died for you, and is the Author and Finisher of your faith. Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Me, and I will make your paths straight,” (see Proverbs 3:5, 6).”
Now, like Paul, I forget what is behind me and plow heavenward toward the goal of life eternal (see Philippians 3:13, 14)! I keep my eyes fixed on the One who hung on the Tree, and God keeps my path straight
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