WORKING IN THE HAPPY VALE TOGETHER

Last week in my Thoughts for a Sabbath Day I made a reference to sharing from our sparse stock of sheaves. It wasn’t long after sending out the emails with this phase included that I was made aware not everyone had plowed the same fields of life that I had. I will now attempt to put us all on a level playing field and bring us all into the same realm of reference.

Somewhere back in my personal history which during the last few years has become increasingly more difficult to put in any chronological order, I was introduced to a poem by Clarence Cook entitled Abram and Zimri which I will now either introduce you to or remind you about.

Abram and Zimri owned a field together
A level field hid in a happy vale.
They plowed it with one plow, and in the spring
Sowed, walking side by side, the fruitful seed.
In harvest, when the glad earth smiled with grain,
Each carried to his home one-half the sheaves
And stored them with much labor in his barns.
Now Abram had a wife and seven sons,
But Zimri dwelt alone within his house.


One night before the sheaves were gathered in,
As Zimri lay upon his lonely bed,
And counted in his mind his little gains,
He thought upon his brother Abram’s lot,
And said, "I dwell alone within my house,
But Abram hath a wife and seven sons,
And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike!
I will arise and gird myself, and go
Down to the field, and add to his from mine.”


So he arose, and girded up his loins,
And went out softly to the level field,
The moon shone out from dusky bars of clouds,
And trees stood black against the cold blue sky,
The branches waved, and whispered in the wind.
So Zimri guided by the shifting light,
Went down the mountain path, and found the field,
Took from his store of sheaves a generous third,
And bore them gladly to his brother’s heap.
And then went back to sleep and happy dreams.


Now the same night as Abram lay in bed,
Thinking upon his blissful state in life,
He thought upon his brother Zimri’s lot
And said, “He dwells within his house alone,
He goeth home at night to a cold house
And hath few other friends but me and mine.
For these two tilled the happy vale alone;
“While I, whom heaven hath very greatly blessed
Dwell happy with my wife and seven sons,
Who aid me in my toil and make it light;
And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike,
This surely is not pleasing unto God.
I will arise, and gird myself, and go
Out to the field, and borrow from my store,
And add unto my brother Zimri’s pile.”


So he arose, and girded up his loins,
And went softly down to the level field.
The moon shone out from silver bars of clouds
And trees stood black against the starry sky.
The dark leaves waved and whispered in the breeze.
So Abram, guided by the doubtful light,
Passed down the mountain path, and found the field
Took from his sheaves a generous third,
And added them unto his brother’s heap:
Then he went back to sleep and happy dreams.


So the next morning with the early sun
The brothers rose, and went out to their toil
And when they came to see the heavy sheaves,
Each wondered in his heart to find his heap,
Though he had given a third, was still the same.


Now the next night went Zimri to the field
Took from his store of sheaves a generous share
And placed them on his brother Abram’s heap,
And then lay down behind his pile to watch.
The moon looked out from bars of silvery cloud,
And cedars stood up black against the sky;
The olive branches whispered in the wind.

Then Abram came down softly from his home,
And looking to the left and right, went on,
Took from his ample store a generous third,
And laid it on his brother Zimri’s pile.
Then Zimri rose, and caught him in his arms,
And wept upon his neck, and kissed his cheek;
And Abram saw the whole, and could not speak;
Neither could Zimri, for their hearts were full.

When I first read this poem I little suspected the continual impact it would have on me throughout the rest of my life. Frequently I feel my heart skip a beat and warmness fill my breast as one scene after another remind me of the two brothers weeping upon each others necks. I would like to share just a few of the recent events which shone out like silvery clouds and took me once again to that happy vale where Abram and Zimri toiled side by side in their level field.

I see a 10 year old boy get out of his seat and go to the front of the chapel to aid his little brother who is having difficulty remembering what he wanted to say.

I see a lady filled with grace standing in front of tables filled with books wondering what child or adult would enjoy reading this or that book while eschewing the temptation to add to her personal stacks.

I see a military unit dedicating their off duty hours in an effort to bridge the gap of animosity between occupiers and the occupied, by adding generous heaps, to the lives of ‘enemies’ in an attempt to make their war torn existence a little more comfortable.

I see a mother sacrificing her basic needs for the happiness or comfort of her children.

I see a teacher holding up candles in the silvery night so that a brighter light will shine on his student while contentedly remaining in the shadows all the while.

I see a doctor taking her skills to a strange land to pour out aid, comfort and healing upon those who forever more will no longer be strangers, but will be so filled that they cannot speak.

I see a lawyer whose own barn never seems to be full because she refuses to ask for payment for her services from those she perceives to have life challenges greater than her own.

I see a plumber who keeps his vintage truck limping along, but is always the first to answer the call of the widow who has a leak or a stoppage without any thought of ever being recompensed.

I see a young girl walking a path which is barely visible in order to make sure the new girl in class has at least one friend.

Over and over on my daily treks I see people taking from their sparse stock of sheaves a generous third and adding to their neighbor’s heap. There are times I feel like I have been caught up in their arms and wish to kiss their cheek and I cannot speak. I am truly grateful for the constant reminders of the happy vale in which I dwell.