I don’t really do anything half way. When I decide on something, I commit myself to putting a lot of research into it. Anything worth doing is worth doing to the best of your ability, I believe. That’s not to say that mistakes don’t happen, because they do. In farming, you will always learn a lesson by getting it wrong the first time, regardless of research.

My farming lessons typically come through trial, hardship, or loss. Sometimes all three. It seems the greatest character development always costs something.

There are times when you won’t know why something happened the way it did, and you’ll wonder what you could have done differently to prevent the tragedy. Often, there’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, and you just have to bear the weight of your grief. Other times, you learn something the hard way. You see the mistake, and you learn not to do it that way again. Farming is a lot of lessons and character development borne out of struggle.

To look into your children’s grief-stricken faces and try to explain why the dog got out of her pasture to play with chickens and ended up killing them, or why your favorite goat kid had to be put down, is nothing short of gut-wrenching. These are the types of things that make you want to quit. They have certainly made me feel regret over jumping into this farming adventure, and I have leaned into that desire to give up at least a handful of times. Why do I keep doing this? Why don’t I just sell it all and count it as a loss? Go back to an easier life? I’ve had these thoughts more times than I care to admit in farming. And in my life in general. So why do I keep going?

The word grit comes to mind.

Merriam-Webster defines grit as, “mental toughness and courage; firmness of mind or spirit; unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger.” An acronym I’ve seen around the web defines G.R.IT. as “Guts. Resilience. Initiative. Tenacity.”

From my experience so far, grit is both a farming requirement and an outcome. You have to have at least some mental fortitude before endeavoring to live this type of life. If you go into it with wide-eyed naïveté, you’re going to get crushed. Even if you jump in with an understanding of just how hard it’s going to be, you can still be heartbroken.

I don’t know; maybe we do need to enter this whole farmstead thing with just the right amount of naïveté. Child-like faith. If we knew all the hardships in farming we’d face beforehand, would we still jump? If I knew all the valleys I’d walk with God before choosing Jesus, would I still choose Him?

It’s when you’re heartbroken and don’t know how you’re going to continue, but you somehow still do, that you begin to develop grit as an outcome of farming (and faith).

Grit and faith are sort of synonyms, then. Faith is defined by Merriam-Webster as “strong belief or trust in someone or something; allegiance to duty or a person: loyalty; firm belief in something for which there is no proof; something that is believed especially with strong conviction.”

The Apostle Pauls defines faith as this: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen [the conviction of their reality – faith comprehends as fact what cannot be experienced by the physical senses].”

The Apostle Paul writes about how he presses on toward the goal of heaven, toward Jesus, because of his faith. There’s a conviction of perseverance that accompanies faith. We have faith, so we persevere, and in that perseverance, our faith deepens. So it is with farming and grit.

I farm because I believe in it and love it, in spite of hardships, and in so believing and continuing, I develop and deepen my grit and my faith in the life I chose. Maybe farming doesn’t equal faith for some, or even most, but for me, they go hand-in-hand.

It takes faith to plant a seed in the soil and believe that it’s going to sprout. I can’t see what’s going on under the surface, and I don’t know what will happen to that seed, should too much rain wash it away, or drought cause it to shrivel. But rather than shy away from the potential for ruin, I hopefully believe that something will grow. That’s faith. And should that seed get washed away or shrivel under the sun, I’ll plant another seed in its place and continue to watch for growth, for fruit. That’s grit.

They are parallel to me. Faith is farming, and farming is faith.

So would I still choose farming, if ahead of the struggles and losses, I knew what I’d face down the road? And would I still choose Jesus, if before I set out, I knew the valleys I’d walk? From that limited perspective, probably not. Why would I willingly walk into anything remotely uncomfortable or painful? Because when you’re looking at the trials ahead of you, all you see is the fire. Or the waves. Or the pain. The personal suffering. If you see only the loss, why would anyone choose that? You wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.

It’s only when you get through the valley and look back across how far you’ve come that you realize it was worthwhile. The character development. The strength. The grit. The deepened faith. Those are treasures worth far more than a life of comfort and ease. And I love that farming is a constant reminder of that truth.

Lyrics from Hillsong’s “King of Kings” come to mind: “To reveal the kingdom coming/And to reconcile the lost/To redeem the whole creation/You did not despise the cross/For even in Your suffering/You saw to the other side/Knowing this was our salvation/Jesus, for our sake, You died.”

Jesus alone saw His trial beforehand and still chose it. He still chose to follow His Father and obey, no matter what it cost Him personally. There’s no one else on Earth, before, now, or yet to come, who would sacrifice and go to such lengths to prove His love.

It’s because of this, I believe. And that’s why I keep following. Not because it’s easy, and not because it’s always fun, but because it’s worth it.

If you’re still with me, and you still want to give this whole farmsteading thing a shot, remember that it’s going to cost you something. Your time. Your energy. Your sleep. Your ability to travel. Maybe sometimes your sanity. And you will lose from time to time. There are struggles. But if you stick with it and persevere, you’ll deepen your grit, and maybe even your faith, in the process.