Growing up in south Texas, hauling hay was a summer tradition, perhaps even a rite of passage into manhood. 

For you city folk, hauling hay is how ranchers gather and store up their hay for the winter—to make sure the cows have something to eat. First, the rancher would pull a massive machine called a hay baler, typically behind a tractor, through his field of overgrown grass. The baler would tie up the grass into 40-pound rectangular bundles and spit them back out onto the field. 

To gather up and store the hay, a group of us able-bodied boys would walk the hot, dusty field while the rancher drove his truck, pulling a long, flatbed trailer. Two or three of us would toss the bales up onto the flatbed while another would stack the blocks as tightly and high as possible. When the trailer was full, we’d make a trip to the barn and unload. Then, we’d return and repeat the process, as Mr. Freeman put it, “until every bale was rescued or God calls us home.”

We were each paid a nickel per bale. 

The summer I recall the most was when I was 15. It must’ve been 98 degrees. We were drenched in sweat, sunburn and every muscle in our bodies was screaming for rest. It took us several hours in that blistering Texas heat to clear the field. We tied down the last load, climbed into Mr. Freeman’s rickety truck and rode all the way to the barn, where we unloaded the bales for safe storage. The barn kept the hay safe and protected from the weather, until it could be used to feed the livestock. 

When the flatbed was unloaded and the hay was stacked, all of us dust-covered, worn-out boys collapsed into the crunchy straw mass. We kicked off our leather boots and let our sore feet breathe. Exhausted, but with a sense of accomplishment. 

Or so we thought.

Just as we were exhaling and basking in our success, we could hear Mr. Freeman’s worn cowboy boots shuffling through the stray straw on hard, dirt barn floor. In his gruff, Texas accent, he bellowed, “Now let’s go do the other field.”

What!? 

“There’s more hay to haul, boys. And it ain’t gonna haul itself.”

Fast forward some 40 years later. I work at an organization called Compassion International--whose mission is to release children from poverty. Through partnership with well over 8,000 local churches in 29 of the world's poorest countries, Compassion is helping to feed, clothe, educate and disciple over two million children and youth. 

In a way, I think of Compassion like hay haulers—rescuing kids from the barren fields, bringing them to a safe environment (the church) for protection from the hard, harsh winters of life.

And we’ve made progress.

When I started at Compassion, we had fewer than 500,000 children and youth in our program. Today, we’re over 2.2 million. We could easily call that success. But we cannot afford to stretch out on the straw and bask in our accomplishments. Just as Mr. Freeman walked into that barn some 40 years ago and announced there’s another field, Compassion’s work too is not finished.

There’s more hay to haul. 

The global food crisis threatens millions upon millions with malnutrition. By some accounts, the pandemic threw an additional 100-million people below the poverty line. War, drought, natural disasters all wreak havoc on the world’s poor. 

Yes, there’s another field. We’ve got keep our boots on and climb back in the truck. We must commit to continue working in the field to get as many children as possible into the safe haven of their local church. 

Until every bale is rescued or God calls us home.