Blame it on the sudden warmth. Blame it on the welcome sight of buds on the trees. Blame it on a dash of young love.

But blame it mostly on a serious case of stupidity.

She and I were in college. We’d gone on a date or two and felt a spark or two. Spring was in the air. The gray sky had finally shed her cloudy coat. The Saturday afternoon sky was blue, and the breeze was warm. We drove through the countryside with windows down and spirits high. Was the ride planned or impromptu? I don’t recall. What I do remember are the fields of winter wheat. So lush. So green. So inviting.

I’m sure the romp was my idea. I’m a bit prone to spontaneous folly. I once tried to impress a girl with a leaping plunge into a river, only to discover that it was three feet deep. Good thing I didn’t dive. I sank up to my ankles in mud.

But back to the wheat field. Did I mention its beauty? An olive-green carpet, it was. Did I mention that romance was beginning to blossom? She for me. I for her. So when I suggested a barefoot scamper through the field, I was thinking hand in hand, skip and jump, and who knows—maybe a first kiss?

I stopped the car. We peeled off our shoes and socks and jumped over the fence, expecting to land on the equivalent of a soft mattress. But, alas, we’d been duped.

Winter wheat fields are green on the surface but rocky and sticky beneath. After three or four steps we came to a sudden stop. She gave me a what-were-you-thinking glare. By the time we retraced our steps, my ego was as bruised as our feet. That was the beginning of the end for us. The day love died in a West Texas wheat field. (Sounds like a country song.)

You’ve made the same mistake. Not on a farm, but in life. You have been fooled. Deceived. Tricked. Lured into a field of green only to realize it was a bed of thorns.

Remember how the bright lights led to lonely nights? How the promise of fast cash led to dead-end debt? Remember the time he lured you into his bed or she convinced you of her love? You didn’t bloody your feet, but you broke your heart or drained your bank account and, I hope, learned this lesson: things aren’t always what they seem. What’s too good to be true usually is.

This is a word to the wise. And this is a relevant warning for those who are stuck in winter. Tough times can trigger poor decisions. We lose our bearings. We forget God’s call. We exchange our convictions for the bright lights of Persia. This was the temptation that faced the Jews.

Max Lucado, You Were Made for This Moment: Courage for Today and Hope for Tomorrow (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2021), 2–5.

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