If I build it, they will come.
Some weeks, like this one, it takes a lot of effort to build. Certainly, I have enough excuses to avoid the effort. The words I fill here steal from a well that supplies my book, and of course, there is always the question of time: never enough, too much. Mostly, though, the main required (and sometimes lacking) fuel is faith.
Ray Kinsella was never short on faith. He had a family to support, a farm the bank threatened to seize, and yet he upheld as ultimate truth a lone voice whispering in a cornfield. In the beginning, he didn’t know what to build or who would come. In the beginning, all he had was faith.
Who do I think will come? Certainly, there are the legions of fans that have not yet rounded the bend and illuminated my night sky with their headlights. Those headlights would be nice to witness. But Ray Kinsella didn’t set out for headlights or ticket fees. In the beginning, he wasn’t even looking for salvation. He simply had an itch: an urge to listen, an urge to follow a voice, an urge to mow down his corn and build something that didn’t belong.
Probably, if I were honest, I’d change “they” to “she.” If I build it, she will come. Out there, lost in a cornfield far away from the farmhouse I live in with my husband and toddler is another toddler. She is tired, overworked, and a little unclear about her place. Like Shoeless Joe, she has been banned from the game and has nowhere to play. If I mow down my acres of corn—the livelihood that keeps the roof over my head and the food in my mouth—she will come. But do I want her to come?
Recently, I’ve been feeling the emergence of baby fever. I’m nowhere near ready to conceive again, but I do feel the urge to create a new life. Better yet, I’m no longer starry-eyed with visions of cheerful babies playing peekaboo; I know what an unruly and ugly monster life can be. I’m beginning to wonder if that new life—that sibling for Jack—might already exist in a cornfield nearby. Can I build what she needs? And if I do, will she play? I have learned this from Jack: Out of play, possibility emerges. From possibility comes faith. And yet I need faith to spark her play. She is scared. I am scared.
My favorite moment from Field of Dreams is when young “Moonlight” Graham crosses the field to save Ray’s daughter from choking. As soon as he steps over the magic threshold, he transforms into the older version of himself, “Doc” Graham, and can never return to the protected play space Ray created. Ray apologizes profusely, but Doc seems resigned to his choice. He is a baseball player and a doctor, after all.
Who was I and who have I become? What dreams am I willing to trade? Do I have the stamina to listen, to build, week after week after week? If I build it…what will come?
