Logan’s Trading Sweater

As we go through life, we meet all kinds of people. Some stay for a moment, some for a season, and some settle so deeply into our hearts that we carry them with us for the rest of our lives.

Logan and Cleo were that kind of people for me.

I was a young college graduate when I started working on the farm. Along the road leading to work, I kept seeing this older couple out and about. They were always busy, although from what I could tell, Cleo was running the operation and Logan was forced labor.

That little lady could hand out a batch of orders without stopping to reload.

Logan would just smile at her and do what she said. I figured he had been married long enough to understand that peace was sometimes found on the other end of whatever chore she had assigned him.

After a few weeks, I started stopping to talk. Those roadside conversations grew into one of the greatest blessings of my life.

They took me in like a grandson. I helped them however I could, and Cleo made sure I never suffered from that terrible condition known as an empty stomach.

With Cleo, “Have you eaten?” wasn’t so much a question as the opening statement of a feeding program.

Through the years, we became extremely close. I treasure the time I spent with them, and I learned plenty from both of them. But one of Logan’s lessons came wrapped in a sweater that ought to have been retired before he was.

Logan had worked hard as a lineman in Los Angeles County, California. He had made some good investments and was blessed to buy a farm when he retired and moved back to the Damascus area.

He was a sharp feller. He knew how to work, how to handle money, and—as I was about to discover—how to dress for a tractor purchase.

One day he said, “I need to go look at a tractor tomorrow. Would you mind taking me?”

“I’d be glad to,” I told him.

“Meet me here about nine, and we’ll ride over and check them out.”

The next morning, I pulled in at their house. Naturally, Cleo was trying to feed me breakfast. Apparently, she thought buying farm equipment on an empty stomach could lead to permanent injury.

Then Logan came walking around the corner.

He had on an old pair of rough-looking jeans and a faded reddish button-up sweater. That sweater looked older than he was, and it had enough holes in it to qualify as a ventilation system.

He sat down and started putting on his shoes.

Cleo took one look at him.

“What in the world? You can’t wear that out in public! You look like a bum!”

Logan grinned from ear to ear.

“That’s the point. I’ve got on my trading clothes.”

Now he had my attention.

He explained, “They’ll look at me and say, ‘That old boy’s barely getting by, and he’s getting older. We need to help him.’”

I laughed. Cleo had been trying to make him presentable, and Logan had been working just as hard to make himself look financially endangered.

We headed out, and sure enough, ol’ Logan walked in looking like he was one missed meal away from needing somebody to take up an offering.

Meanwhile, underneath that worn-out sweater was a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

He looked over the tractor, did his trading, and got one of the best deals I had ever heard of.

On the way home, he looked over at me and said, “If you need to buy anything in the future, I’ll let you borrow my trading sweater.”

That sweater might have been the best-performing investment he owned.

I’ve laughed about that day many times. But it also reminds me how easily we judge people by what we can see.

We see clothes, vehicles, houses, age, and appearance, and we think we’ve got somebody figured out.

Sometimes we miss a remarkable person because the packaging doesn’t impress us. Other times, we’re so impressed with the packaging that we never stop to consider what’s inside.

When Samuel went to anoint Israel’s next king, he saw Jesse’s son Eliab and thought surely this was the man. But God told him:

“For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.”

—1 Samuel 16:7

Samuel could see what looked like a king. God could see the heart.

That ought to change how we look at other people—and how we think about ourselves.

A worn-out sweater can cover a generous heart. A fine suit can cover a proud one. Calloused hands may belong to somebody who walks closely with God, while a polished appearance may hide a life that desperately needs Him.

And we can dress ourselves up spiritually, too.

We can carry a Bible, know the right words, smile at the right moments, and look like we have everything together. But God sees beneath all of it. He knows our motives, our secret sins, our love, and our loyalties.

He also sees the hurt nobody else notices, the quiet faithfulness nobody applauds, and the kindness offered when nobody is watching.

Logan’s sweater could influence what a tractor salesman thought about him. But none of us has a set of trading clothes that can fool the Lord.

The good news is that we don’t have to fool Him. Through Jesus Christ, we can come honestly, confess our sin, and ask Him to change us from the inside out.

David prayed, “Create in me a clean heart, O God” (Psalm 51:10).

That’s a prayer worth bringing to the Lord every day. Before we spend too much time making sure we look right, we ought to ask Him to make our hearts right.

I’m thankful I stopped along that farm road. I found two lifelong friends, a place at Cleo’s table, and a lesson I still carry with me.

So take the time to know people. Look beyond the clothes. Listen to their stories. You may find a blessing you would have missed by judging too quickly.

And if you’re going tractor shopping, a faded red sweater might help.

But when you come before the Lord, bring an honest heart.

He already sees what’s underneath.