My room is in a semblance of order, my journals are unpacked and the yard is beginning to take on a less run-down look. These changes subtly hint at hours of hard labor. It seems we never stop. We can’t stop. Every time I sit down feeling satisfied with one finished job, I glance around me to discover several more demanding my attention. And every night this week we’ve been up late “socializing” with the many friends we have down here.
Yesterday the well ran dry. I had just finished showering and everyone else was trooping in to get cleaned up for the Bible study at Wes and Audrey’s. We’d finally gotten the conversion kit and switched the dryer over to propane so we’d been doing laundry. And then the washing machine quit filling half-way. It recovered after about half an hour, but we’ve been trying to be more conservative since: space out dishwashing, laundry and showers more evenly throughout the day.
When we got home late last night, the hot water heater had gone out and so Papa was up until midnight trying to fix it. From my room next to the laundry room I listened in a sleepy daze as he worked, wondering what in the world was going on.
I woke up this morning feeling like I’d been run over by a mountain goat, fixed breakfast and tried to take a much-needed-but-often-missed-of-late fast. Then I headed out to rake up and haul the hefty blanket of leaves and pine needles spread across our yard. I was so tired I could hardly think straight.
So Josiah’s teasing about my driving as I backed the pick-up to haul was not appreciated.
And one stately pine tree went unnoticed—until it gave my bumper a resounding kiss.
I was out the door in a moment, frustrated and worried. Josiah reached me at the same moment I burst into tears and took me in his arms, telling me it would be okay, reminding me how often he had backed into trees—or garage doors.
My first driving mishap. The tears felt refreshing.
Our very helpful neighbor came over today while we were working and stayed for lunch. As a retired airman, he’s full of stories and pleasant.
The yard is full of mountains—molehills, rather, and we had our first successful mole-hunting expedition. Papa’s sharp eyes spotted a mound of moving dirt near the back patio, which a swift stomp put a stop to. Josiah grabbed a handy rake and dug out a corpulent, silky mole, stunned in the midst of his tunneling expedition.
That mole’s single-mindedness inspired me. Even though those around him get irritated with his tunneling philosophy or his mound-making perseverance, that mole just keeps steadily doing what he was intended to do: dig tunnels. We gawk at him for being ugly, blind or having big hands, but those are all tools that God have him to better accomplish his task.
My task is to glorify God. What tools has God given me to accomplish His purpose—in spite of opposition?
Lord, I pray to know Thy will.
Thou hast bid me linger still
In the pages of Thy word:
There Thou made Thy purpose heard.
Centuries, spelled out in days--
Filled with never ceasing praise.
Eternal glory Thou dost seek
Repeated since creation’s week.
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