Are There Tractors in Heaven?
Illustration
Stories
But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But if Christ is in you, then the body is dead because of sin, but the Spiritis life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesusfrom the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also throughhis Spirit that dwells in you. (vv. 9-11)
I woke up at 5:00 A.M., milking time, on the day they laid Vince Willis to rest in the Loyd Cemetery just a mile south of our old farm in Richland County, Wisconsin.
My mind was flooded with memories of the growing up years I shared with Vince and the Willis family. Vince was several years ahead of me, one of the big kids who looked out for all of us little ones at our church in Loyd, umpiring softball games behind the building and breaking up squabbles. His mom and his aunt, both of whom passed just a few months ago, were my Sunday school teachers. Vince’s dad, Leck, was one of the men who, along with my dad, Leonard, went out every fall to saw up wood for the church furnace. Vince’s grandparents, Buford and Gertie Frye, operated the store in Loyd.
Dad used to tell about the time he called the store from Italy, near the end of World War II, to ask Buford to get a message to his folks that, after four years, he was finally coming home. And how my grandpa, Archie, happened to be in the store and how Buford said into the phone, “Leonard, your dad is right here; tell him yourself.”
I remember when Vince started bringing his Ithaca girlfriend, Donnabel Fritz, to church and how, after they were married, she became my sister Ruth’s piano teacher and our church organist. Then there are memories of Ithaca High school athletic events. Vince was always there in the bleachers rooting for us at football games and wrestling matches after he was done milking his award-winning Smyth Hollow Holsteins.
After I moved away for college and seminary, and 43 years of pastoring churches --- I saw Vince occasionally when we came home for church dinners. When Jo and I retired and moved back to the family farm in 2014, Vince and Donnabel were among the first to greet us at church. Donnabel was still playing the organ and Vince’s pew was filled with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I marveled at how they all adored him.
I was sick for a few years and unable to go to church. And when I was finally well enough to return, just two years ago, I experienced church like I never had before. There were hugs from Donnabel and several others. Vince came over, sat with me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I have missed you, John. I am glad you are better.”
And I will never forget the Sunday, after church, when Vince sought me out and, in a quiet voice, told me that our farm neighbor and his dear friend, Dennis Fuller, was seriously ill. It wasn’t just that he told me, it was the gentle and caring way he said it. He knew I loved Denny, too.
Now their mortal remains lie only a few yards apart up there on the hill above Loyd. But their spirits are somewhere beyond the ridge, over Smyth Hollow, leaning up against a big farmall, talking about the price of beef cattle and beans. Surely there are tractors in heaven.
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StoryShare, March 26, 2023 issue.
Copyright 2023 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
I woke up at 5:00 A.M., milking time, on the day they laid Vince Willis to rest in the Loyd Cemetery just a mile south of our old farm in Richland County, Wisconsin.
My mind was flooded with memories of the growing up years I shared with Vince and the Willis family. Vince was several years ahead of me, one of the big kids who looked out for all of us little ones at our church in Loyd, umpiring softball games behind the building and breaking up squabbles. His mom and his aunt, both of whom passed just a few months ago, were my Sunday school teachers. Vince’s dad, Leck, was one of the men who, along with my dad, Leonard, went out every fall to saw up wood for the church furnace. Vince’s grandparents, Buford and Gertie Frye, operated the store in Loyd.
Dad used to tell about the time he called the store from Italy, near the end of World War II, to ask Buford to get a message to his folks that, after four years, he was finally coming home. And how my grandpa, Archie, happened to be in the store and how Buford said into the phone, “Leonard, your dad is right here; tell him yourself.”
I remember when Vince started bringing his Ithaca girlfriend, Donnabel Fritz, to church and how, after they were married, she became my sister Ruth’s piano teacher and our church organist. Then there are memories of Ithaca High school athletic events. Vince was always there in the bleachers rooting for us at football games and wrestling matches after he was done milking his award-winning Smyth Hollow Holsteins.
After I moved away for college and seminary, and 43 years of pastoring churches --- I saw Vince occasionally when we came home for church dinners. When Jo and I retired and moved back to the family farm in 2014, Vince and Donnabel were among the first to greet us at church. Donnabel was still playing the organ and Vince’s pew was filled with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I marveled at how they all adored him.
I was sick for a few years and unable to go to church. And when I was finally well enough to return, just two years ago, I experienced church like I never had before. There were hugs from Donnabel and several others. Vince came over, sat with me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I have missed you, John. I am glad you are better.”
And I will never forget the Sunday, after church, when Vince sought me out and, in a quiet voice, told me that our farm neighbor and his dear friend, Dennis Fuller, was seriously ill. It wasn’t just that he told me, it was the gentle and caring way he said it. He knew I loved Denny, too.
Now their mortal remains lie only a few yards apart up there on the hill above Loyd. But their spirits are somewhere beyond the ridge, over Smyth Hollow, leaning up against a big farmall, talking about the price of beef cattle and beans. Surely there are tractors in heaven.
*****************************************
StoryShare, March 26, 2023 issue.
Copyright 2023 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
