The Mowing Shirt

I never know where they’ll come from,

These praises God sends me.
Today I shook my head and said,
“Oh Lord, that just can’t be”,
Yet here I sit writing that praise
As you can plainly see.
 
It’s just a tattered old work shirt
That’s ripped and frayed and torn
By all the trees it’s snagged upon
Through the years it’s been worn
While mowing in my parent’s yard.
But offer it no scorn,
 
For just today it taught me much,
A lesson I should learn.
A branch hooked me up by my shirt
While making a tight turn,
And it would not let go of me
Though I spoke sharp and stern.
 
It snagged upon an older slash
And tore that snag anew
Before I got it untangled
And pushed the tractor through,
But first I had to back it up,
Something I hate to do.
 
I had just been lamenting that
Time was moving too fast
And very soon the day would come
When these mow days are past.
They remind me of one I love,
But nothings meant to last.
 
So when the tree snagged on my shirt
It snagged on my heart, too,
As I heard a small voice tell me
What I needed to do
Was back up and let it all go
Before I pushed on through.
 
For I can’t move on in my life
Til I give the past rest,
And, while I’ll have it with me still,
I can’t live life distressed;
If I am focused on what’s lost
I can’t give life my best.
 
So I will let go of the past
When the old home is sold,
I’ll retire the mowing shirt,
So tattered, torn and old,
And turn my face to tomorrow,
Step out and live life bold.