One of my favorite dictionaries says the most common meaning for “yield” is “to produce or provide a natural product”, and, in that sense, I always hope a great amount of yielding will occur in my life. Just as a farmer looks forward to an abundant “yield” of crops each year, I look forward to the ripening and flowering of inexpressible miracles in each of my days. The passing moments, you might say, are the fruitful and fecund soil, out of which will slowly rise a lavish crop of wholesome thoughts and events. (I sometimes fantasize that someone noticing my obviously abundant life might be reminded of harvest time on the farm.) Another common definition of “yield” is “to give way to pressure”, as in “He yielded to the demands of his peers.” Each person I come in contact with makes demands on me, brings a sort of pressure to bear – the pressure of their own matchless, extraordinary lives. For me, it’s usually a quiet and gentle pressure – a loving one, too – but it can also be an intense and penetrating pressure. However, one of the greatest lessons I’ve learned over the years is to yield, to give way as gracefully as possible, to this pressure of other people – to this steady and useful wisdom of human lives.