Centered

by Jason Brown

  We’re made of dirt, according to the Bible. “God formed the man of dust from the ground,” it says in Genesis 2:7. And what does God do? He takes us and plants a seed in us. He molds us in His own image.

  Sometimes when we look around the landscape of our lives, we see something dirty. Ugly. We see failures and disasters and setbacks. We look at those grimy moments in our lives and wish we could just wash them away. But God uses those moments to grow something good. Something awesome and true. Something miraculous. He uses humble people, and people who’ve been humbled, to do great works for Him and His kingdom. But we have to trust Him. We have to allow Him to work through us, even if sometimes it can feel painful.

  I look around our farm and think about how good, and how generous, our God is sometimes. How even during the darkest of times—those times when our finances were such that we could barely pay our bills—God sustained us through it all. How He blessed us when we needed it, how He gave us strength and courage when we felt as though we couldn’t take another step in this life. I look at all the miracles He’s given us. I’m not talking about tractors or greenhouses or man boxes; I’m talking about our children. Our family. Our love for each other. I look at my new baby, Isaiah, and I know what a miracle he is.

  I needed roosters. I needed a greenhouse. I needed a forklift.

  But what do I really need? What has been the only thing I’ve ever needed? God. Just God.

  CHAPTER 12

  Feast

  I worked hard when I was in football. I practiced and played through some sweltering days. I’ve seen fellow players almost faint from the work and heat. But nothing I’ve ever done in the sport—no game, no two-a-day practice—prepared me for picking cucumbers in June.

  I mentioned earlier how I connected with the Society of St. Andrew, a network of volunteer gleaners, who helped harvest my very first crop in 2014 (and still harvest at First Fruits Farm today). I talked about how I connected them with my friend Len Wester and they gleaned his cucumber fields that summer, gathering more than ten thousand pounds.

  I was one of those volunteer gleaners that late June day. I was combing Len Wester’s fields for leftover cucumbers—bending down again and again, over and over.

  I wasn’t that far removed from my football days, but I wasn’t in gleaning shape. It wasn’t too long before I started to feel the wear of all that bending. I could feel the twinge in my lower back muscles—pain that kept growing and growing with each new move to grab another cucumber. It wasn’t long before it was just this sharp pain radiating all through my lower back. Then, as I kept pushing those muscles harder and harder, they eventually started to just lock up.

  That happened to me in thirty minutes. I was supposed to be out there for two hours.

  And I was. I pushed through all that pain, through the seizing muscles in my lower back. I worked alongside nearly a hundred volunteers who, surely, were hurting just as much as I was. None of us were getting paid for this work. We’d volunteered to suffer like this. We’d given up a perfectly fine Saturday morning. That work tests your commitment. It tests your strength. It even tests your faith.

  But when I stood up, stretched my back out as much as I could, and looked around at the gleaners in the field, I saw something pretty inspiring: the awesome quality of people who’d volunteer to do something like that. I knew what they’d given up. I knew they had to have a passion for what they were doing—a passion to help and feed needy communities. I saw the real quality of people then, people I’d want to be friends with, people I’d want in my inner circle.

  I was exhausted. I was in pain. But I knew I was doing something worthwhile with good people. And that was pretty awesome.

  Worn and Weary

  A man once asked me what Tay and I enjoy most about the farm. I could’ve said so many things, because we enjoy a lot about our lives. But when he asked me, I hesitated for a moment. The truth is, Tay and I are still trying to find a sense of balance in our lives here. We’re still trying to find that peace and joy, but often it’s hard to do so with such a demanding and laborsome lifestyle.

  We’ve found love here, for sure. We’ve found purpose on First Fruits Farm. But in the middle of feeling that love and purpose, I’m often exhausted. The sweat I put into football is nothing compared to what I’ve watered these fields with. I look at our house, and I think that someday I’ll be able to enjoy it. I’ll be able to sit down and truly relax. In August, I sometimes fantasize about being lazy come January, when there’s nothing to plow or pick or harvest. But even in the winter, Tay and I work just as hard. We’re still getting after it.

  God tells us that He’ll never give us more than we can handle. But sometimes, between the work and the financial stress and wrangling eight children, it feels like we can’t handle it. Tay and I can feel so tired from it all—tired to the point where it feels like we might break. And the demands never stop.

  Tay is often overlooked in our ministry. And some of that is just natural, as I’m the ex–NFL player, the guy who speaks to churches and schools. Tay doesn’t like to be the center of attention. But sometimes people will push by Tay to talk to me, or they’ll call us up and treat her like a secretary. They don’t know how disrespectful that is. They don’t know that she’s the glue that holds it all together. She’s the one who pushes me when I need pushing, who comforts me when I need comforting, who grounds me when I need grounding. She’s the one who keeps me centered.

  But she struggles too. I pulled her with me on this journey, remember—this crazy call of God. And sometimes it’s up to me to help her.

  Tay reads every email that comes to First Fruits Farm, and many of those emails come with some pretty unique requests. People know that we donate almost everything we grow. But they don’t know how much Tay and I have struggled financially over the last several years. As a result, people often write in and ask us for financial help. We’ve had people ask us for houses, for cars, and to help pay someone’s college tuition. A church asked us one time to cosign on a million-dollar mortgage.

  For me, it’s easy to just let those requests go by. I know what God called me to be. He called me to be a farmer. I’m not a bank. Even if I had the money, I can’t give it to everyone who asks.

  But Tay’s heart is so sympathetic. She reads those emails and feels the need behind them. That sort of tenderness is a gift—but it can be a curse too. She tries to prayerfully answer every email we get. She tries to really consider each and every one. I’ve seen her sit at the computer, literally all day, looking at just one email, praying and agonizing over it.

  “I don’t know how to respond to this person,” she’ll say, and she’ll detail whatever wildly expensive request they’re making.

  “Well, that’s easy!” I tell her. “We can’t help them!” We don’t have the money.

  “Look, we’re doing what God has called us to do,” I tell her. “We’re farming. We’re growing food. I know the world has countless other causes. There are so many people and organizations that really do need money. They need resources. They do need a blessing. But we’ve got to focus on what God called us to focus on. We’ve got to do what God called us to do.”

  That’s enough for now. Honestly, sometimes it feels like too much.

  Hard Blessings

  To be a Christian means to follow Christ—and to follow His example all the way to the cross. If someone asks for our coat, we’re to give him our shirt too. We’re to give freely and cheerfully, to sacrifice for others as Jesus did for us.

  Give, God tells us. Give till it hurts.

  It’s been hurting for a while now.

  During that first harvest in 2014, we saw how great the need was—how much hunger there was, even in our little area of North Carolina. We knew we had to keep giving.

  First Fruits Farm has truly become, in practice, All Fruits Farm. Except for w
hat we hold back for ourselves and our children, we give the food we grow away. Food banks and soup kitchens depend on what we grow. We’ve donated more than a million pounds of food since we started First Fruits Farm; we’ve fed countless families. But it hasn’t been easy. We’ve wondered sometimes how we’d be able to keep doing what we’re doing.

  People have told us that what we’re doing is not sustainable—that we can’t keep giving away everything we grow and hope that the miracles will still keep coming.

  “You keep giving help like this,” my father sometimes tells me, “and pretty soon, you’re going to be the one who needs some help.”

  He’s got a point. But I also recognize that I’m attached to a kingdom with unlimited resources—that I’m loved by a generous God. And so we keep giving. We keep working. We keep doing what God called us to do.

  I’m working harder now than I ever did playing football. I’m sacrificing more now than I ever did playing football. And some people might wonder, Why bother? Why put so much into this work when, compared to the NFL, you’re getting so little out of it?

  But here’s the difference between my life then and my life now: When I go to bed, I have a sense of peace and satisfaction. The stress that I felt playing football is gone. And, although it’s been replaced by different stresses, I know that all my problems come with a purpose. A mission. I know that what I’m doing now isn’t just for me. It isn’t even just about all the thousands of people who might otherwise go hungry. It’s for God.

  I’m doing what God has truly called me to do. Football? The NFL? That just helped prepare the way.

  One of the Bible’s most famous verses is Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (NKJV). Sometimes when you hear ministers preach on that verse, they concentrate on the “I can do all things” part. “I can do all things!” they say, and they talk about the miracles that the disciples and apostles performed: healing the sick and curing the paralytic and even raising the dead.

  But you know what? The context in which Paul said that has nothing to do with great, miraculous happenings. He was talking about being strong through difficult circumstances and finding a sense of contentment even in the midst of them. Paul was saying, Look, I know what it feels like to be hungry. I know what it feels like to be full. I know what it feels like to be rich, and to be poor. But I’ve learned how to be content in every state. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” Paul said. That’s where the stress should be. Paul wasn’t talking about miracles; he was talking about finding peace through God’s plan, even when that plan is hard.

  I know what it’s like to be rich, and to be poor. I know what it’s like to have everything, and I know what it’s like to cry out to God in the middle of a dusty, fly-infested field.

  My life of comfort is gone. I stress and I sweat and sometimes I wonder how the next bill will be paid. But I’m content. I’m content in Christ, because He strengthens me.

  God called me to be a farmer. And guess what? He’s calling you to something too. He’s knocking on your door. He’s whispering your name. You may think it sounds crazy at first. You may worry what people would say if you actually dared to listen. But you know what? Listen anyway. Follow.

  The life you find may be strange and uncomfortable. It may be hard. It may push you to what you think is your breaking point and keep pushing you—pushing until you cry in pain and frustration and anger.

  But follow anyway. It’s only by following that you can find real contentment. It’s only by following that you can find real purpose.

  For all the work I do, for all the weariness that sinks and settles deep into my bones, I wake up every morning, look out the window, and feel…amazed. I can’t believe that God allows me to steward this place. I can’t believe how lucky I am. How blessed. I see the sun rise over my barn, the sky painted orange and purple. I hear the birds in the oak trees beyond. I breathe in the scent of the animals, the plants, the water in the air. And I feel God beside me. Above me. Everywhere.

  The sun begins another day. The rooster crows. Every day brings its own trouble, yes, and my days can be filled with them. But they’re filled with miracles too. Love. Peace. Family. Hope. Purpose.

  On my twenty-seventh birthday, in a mansion in St. Louis, I stared into a mirror and saw my brother looking back at me.

  Jason, what are you doing with your life that’s so great? he said. What are you doing with your life that’s so awesome?

  I had no answers then.

  I do now.

  Dana and Lunsford with their mom, Deborah, holding Jason.

  Lunsford, Jason, and Dana.

  Jason with his siblings and dad.

  Jason, his parents, and his siblings prepare for a riverboat cruise in New Orleans, Louisiana.

  Lunsford with Jason, who had just lost his two front teeth.

  Lunsford (right) with an army friend, playing cards—one of his favorite hobbies.

  Tay, Jason, and Jason’s mom, Deborah, at Jason’s final college home game.

  Jason and JW celebrate Tay’s UNC dental school graduation.

  © Gina Kropf

  The Brown family pose for Jason and Tay’s ten-year vow renewal.

  Four generations: Grandpa Willie B. Jefferson with Bernard (Jason’s dad), JW, Jason, and Noah Brown.

  Jason proudly holds his first bounty of cucumbers, gleaned with the help of faithful volunteers from the Society of St. Andrew.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The Brown family in front of the miracle tractor.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  Jason and Tay.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The Brown family and their broccoli.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The Browns gather for an annual front porch photo.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The Brown family, including newborn Judah and both sets of grandparents, in front of the barn.

  When the deer don’t get to the sweet potatoes, they can grow as big as a person’s head.

  Tay’s bright smile fills the barnyard as she holds her goat Patty-Rona.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The Brown bunch pose for an Easter photo.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The eight Brown family kids.

  © Jamie Thayer Jones

  The Browns at First Fruits Farm.

  Tay,

  My crown and worthy of all my love.

  Oh, what a blessing you are!

  Such a fruitful vine, and our children are your vigorous fruits.

  Our family flourishes because of your faithfulness.

  More than a helpmate, you are my armor bearer who oftentimes fearlessly charges into battle.

  If only the world could see that you are the real hero and I’m only a sidekick!

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to:

  Wester Farms

  The Rose brothers

  Society of St. Andrew

  Nash Produce

  Louisburg Tractor

  The many thousands of volunteers who have helped to grow, harvest, and donate more than one million pounds of food. For your humble hearts and service in love, I am forever grateful.

  About the Author

  Jason Brown grew up in Henderson, North Carolina. He went on to attend the University of North Carolina, where he played both guard and tackle before moving to center. He never missed a game. He was drafted in the fourth round by the Baltimore Ravens in 2005. B
rown became a free agent in 2009 and was signed by the St. Louis Rams for $37.5 million, making him the highest-paid center in the league at the time. He was again a free agent three years later, but rather than signing a new contract, he left the NFL and bought a thousand-acre farm near Louisburg, North Carolina. Brown has been farming full time since 2013, and he gives nearly everything that he grows (mostly sweet potatoes) to the poor. He and his wife, Tay, have been married since 2003 and have eight children.