Come now, take a moment will you? And hear my story.

Who am I? Ah, yes. Of course you’d want to know. Me? I’m just an old man now …worn well like an aged violin …my exterior may look tired, but ah, the melodic joy inside. Beautiful tunes can reside in the womb of a soul about to take wing to its Home.

But now, my story.

There’s space here, on the bench. It’ll take a moment for me to explain.

See that field over yonder? It’s across that rockery and near the stone granary on the left. Yes, it’s a little hard to see from here, but I love seeing the sun crystalize across that plain.

Years ago, when I was much younger man, I worked at that granary. Makes me smile. That building certainly looked more industrious then. Kinda sad how the vines take over when things fall into disuse.

Well, one day I was about my work and decided to get some water from the spring out back. The manager of the granary joined me and we took a short walk down to the water. His name was Mr. Hopefield. Good man he was.

We got our drink and were about to turn back when we heard sobbing.

Just over yonder, past the spring, a lady wrapped in a brown shawl was stumbling across that big field. I stood transfixed for a moment, wondering what the problem was, when Mr. Hopefield spoke.

“It’s called the field of Burdenshare, and I don’t wonder. So many burdens we have to carry in these days.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t heard?”

Evidently this was supposed to be a well-known fact about the area, but I was young kid, fresh from grade school and didn’t know everything about everybody in our small town of Peoplesville.

Mr. Hopefield removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his face. It was hard work at the granary. “Ah, son, this field is a mystery, that’s what it is.”

“Mystery? Why?” I asked.

The man shrugged. “It’s known to look barren and unfruitful one day, and blooming with flowers the next.”

“Overnight?” I thought the man was out of his mind. I was a regular farm boy and knew that a flowering field didn’t “just appear” … in the natural form of things.

“Watch.” Mr. Hopefield replied with a meditative air. “You’ll see.”

I looked back and saw the woman crying. She held up a cloth to her face every now and then, but it didn’t catch all the tears. I noticed that as she cried the tears seemed to glisten in the light and fall to the earth like little crystalline diamonds. In fact, it reminded me of seed-planting time. How the small seeds could catch the light of the sun and glint before falling to the earth.

It was then that I made a resolution. I was going to discover the mystery of this Burdenshare field.

That night I got permission to camp out at the field. My Dad came along with me. We set up camp and as night fell, I watched the woman continue to wander across the barren earth. Her cries were so sad. I knew it had to be a deep grief. And as I listened …I wished. I wished I could do something to help her.

It was very, very early in the morning, before the sun rose that my Dad and I got up and went to the field. We found that the woman was still there, weeping and wandering across the land.

By this time, I was beginning to formulate a plan of how I might offer her some comfort. Surely, something could be done.

Just as I turned to talk to my Dad about it, I saw a sweet little girl skipping up the lane to the field. She held a basket in one hand and a bright smile rested on her face. Her pink dress shimmered in the pre-dawn light and her eyes sparkled with joy.

“Excuse me,” I stepped in her way and held out a hand, “I’m sorry, but if you’re looking for flowers up here, there are none.”

The girl stopped, a laugh hidden in her nod. “Are you sure about that?” She motioned for me to turn around and look back at the field.

I did.

And it was right then that I saw …the mystery of Burdenshare.

Flowers …there were hundreds, nay, thousands. Some bobbed in the wind, others were hurriedly pressing up through the dirt and opening their petals.

I stood aghast and in awe. And then I noticed the weeping woman. She was still wandering and crying, but with amazement I saw that wherever she walked–flowers were budding and rising up through the ground.

“What?” I stuttered. I’m afraid this farm boy didn’t have anything very brilliant to say at that moment.

The girl laughed with kindness in her tone.

“And who are you?” I finished trying to make sense of it all.

“I’m Honeybee Joy. And I’m here to pick flowers.”

“What are you going to do with them?” I asked.

She lifted up her shoulders with inner delight. “I’m going to share them.”

Suddenly, I felt an incongruousness to it. “Wait.” I held out a hand to stop Honeybee. “This …this …this is all because a woman has been crying. It’s like …like, like …well, scared ground or something. I don’t think you should be doing anything with it.”

Honeybee looked thoughtful for a moment and studied my face. “Here,” she said kindly, placing her basket down, “let me explain.”

Motioning me forward, she led me into the midst of the flowers and nodded toward the weeping woman. “Mrs. Soul lost her little child yesterday.” Honeybee’s voice was tender and thoughtful. “It pained her greatly and at first she wept at her home. But then she came here.”

“But why?” I asked, not feeling very enlightened.

“It’s Burdenshare land.”

“So?”

“Burdenshare is a place for blessing others even when hurting.”

I frowned. It sounded strange. I usually wasn’t thinking about blessing others when I was in pain.

“But how does it work?” I asked.

“Don’t you see?” Honeybee responded a little wistfully, watching Mrs. Soul. “Those tears are seeds of sorrow. Mrs. Soul planted them here.”

“But unless they bloom,” I countered, “what good does it do her? Or anyone else for that matter?”

Honeybee smiled. “That’s where you and I come in. This land always involves at least two people …otherwise it wouldn’t exist. You began to plan for Mrs. Soul, didn’t you? You wanted to do something for her, in fact you were going to talk to your Dad before I came up.”

“Yes …” I replied slowly.

“Your plans–and I know they will be realized–became fertilizer for the seeds planted. And thus, there are flowers! And thus, Joy has come to visit you and help you pick them.”

I paused for a long moment, gazing at the field. It started to make sense. And I realized that this was a holy sort of giving …a sacrifice of sharing. Mrs. Soul didn’t have to come to this field to grieve. She didn’t have to share this burden of hers with anyone else …but she did. And the fruit had already begun to blossom.

Honeybee Joy skipped ahead of me and began to fill her basket as the sun broke through the clouds. This time, I smiled. It was beautiful. We’d take some of those flowers and put them with the basket of provisions I was planning to send.

So it was a mystery. A mystery of Burdenshare land. But in a way, it was a miracle too.

A land for the grieving. A soil of sorrow that transformed into blessings. A land of burdens that were shared.

It’s been a long time now and how many times I’ve seen that field bloom!

What? Oh, my name? Funny you’d ask that.

My name is Mr.–well, wait, tell you what. Why don’t you give me whatever name you’d like? I’ve actually had a lot names in my lifetime. Too many to count really.

Maybe …you should just, well, call me by your own name?

 

“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
Galatians 6:2

“Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ. And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation.”

2 Corinthians 1:3-6