Amazing

 September 14, 2020

Linda’s friend commented to her this morning about how amazing she thought it was that we are cutting, splitting, and stacking wood at 71 and 72. We hadn’t given it any thought; her dad was splitting wood into his early 90s, which means we’ve got nearly twenty years to go. No, it doesn’t amaze us that we can do it; it amazes us that we can still move at the end of it. There was a time we could have done it all day long without breaking a sweat; today, four hours was enough. I need to get it done so I can return the equipment I borrowed. I don’t want to be the cause of a logjam in pastor Joe’s own work. 

There is something quite satisfying about doing wood, or any manual labor. I’m juggling wood, remodeling my granddaughter’s bedroom, tending my bees, and doing some demolition for the anticipated laundry room addition, hopefully before the snow flies. I was coming home this morning from trying to remove some bees from a friend’s barn. It was a valiant, but unsuccessful effort; I couldn’t get to the queen, and without her, there’s no way to capture the rest of the colony. I am somewhat saddened that we weren’t able to rescue them, but on the way home, I met a funeral procession, and riding in the passenger seat of the hearse was our pastor Joe. “That used to be me,” I thought. I’m quite content that it was him. The most difficult part of pastoring for me was knowing that I could never say the job was done. Sermons were done each week, but a new one had to be started Monday morning. The sermon may have been done, but the preaching never was, and it’s impossible to finish teaching, preaching, counseling, consoling, or correcting, put the matter on a shelf, and walk away. People always need more.

So tonight, though my muscles ache and my joints are a bit creaky, I am content, and thankful to be busily retired. I hope it stays that way till they plant me on the hill overlooking our house... with a periscope, of course, so what’s left of me can keep an eye on the place.