You are His Hands and Feet

Many years ago at Honey Rock Camp in WI, I was part of a foot-washing service.  Each of us took turns both washing the feet of someone and having our own feet washed.  To my surprise, the washing was easy.  Being washed?  Not so much.

I say it was not easy, but it was incredibly humbling and beautiful.  I was reminded of that occasion because this week I have had my feet washed many times by many people, and I am again humbled. 

Last week my sister-in-law's brother cut down four enormous trees in my backyard for a shockingly small amount of money.  My neighbors, who share a boundary line, paid half the tree removal, despite having had some unexpected bills from another source.  I expected to pay the rest.  My kids' dad did instead. 

The lovely thing about dropping trees is, of course, the cleanup.  I wish I could put a number on the volume of trash and wood in those trees.  I can't.  I can estimate that it would have taken my neighbor and me roughly 1 year, 2 hernias, and 3 trips to the psychiatric ward to clean it ourselves.  Today, apart from a trailer or two of rake-able debris, it is done.

How?  Well, my dad, brother, and their pastor's son (who works for them and presumably got paid...not by me) spent a day with chainsaws, a pickup truck, and my other neighbor's lawn tractor and trailer cutting, dragging, hauling, driving, dumping, ad nauseum.  I helped some, but with 2 little kids to keep track of, my contribution was minimal.  

Despite putting in a full day, they didn't get it done.  Two days later, my father-in-law came down with his dump truck, chainsaw, and servant's heart and we cleared up the rest.  (Aside from the aforementioned leavings.)  

Pop did more than that, however.  He patiently watched my sleeping babes while my neighbor (the one who shares the border with the former pine wall), brought me to get Cebu the Subaru, complete with a new set of (soundless!) brake pads.  

(Alack!  The radio cannot be repaired without sending it out to a specialist.  I haven't decided what to do about that . . . I told you God broke it in the first place!)  

This same lovely neighbor also picked me up at the shop in the morning after dropping her own two grandsons at day care.  

This week my Pastor, he of the soon-to-be-arriving goats, popped in, listened to me blab, and helped me determine what kind of hardware is required for changing the locks.  (I never have had the keys to two doors on the property, so this seems like a good time to rectify that little oversight!)  

Last night my mother stayed with my kids until around 10:30pm while I went to visit a family counselor (who was another blessing from above!) about the kids.  (I was happy to hear that with a little work on my part, and a lot of divine grace, the kids will most likely handle this as well as can be expected.  What a relief!)  

Today, my in-laws came down, ostensibly to help set up the pool.  I got us derailed by buying a little grill to replace the one that belonged to my kids' dad.  So instead, Pop watched the kids (mostly!) while Grammy and I set up the grill.  That's right, we two gals did it on our own.  

Might I just add that Char-Broil has lovely grills and the absolute WORST directions ever?!?  Would it kill them to add a few words like "front of grill," "right side of grill," etc.?  I'm also a bit annoyed that one piece was missing a hole and while I own a cute little drill, I apparently no longer have the driver attachment . . . or a set of drill bits.  Looks like Mommy is taking herself to Ace for Father's Day!  

Pop also took the time to drag out our giant, self-propelled, walk-behind Lesco mower and give me a crash course on operating it so I would be able to use it without cutting my leg off and bleeding out in the middle of my pasture on Father's Day weekend!  After they left, I put it to use.  Between the Beast and the Toy (which is what my other mower now feels like!)  I finished the entire yard, pasture and all, in under 3 hours.  Not bad for beginner learning curve, huh?  Thanks, Pop!  

Thanks also have to go to the kids' dad for leaving it behind for a while.  

Then there's my sister, who is my REAL counselor, the one I call every morning at 8am and text throughout the day . . . my "oxygen mask" as my counselor puts it.  She is also hosting the Father's Day bash tomorrow, which I will blog about on Monday, I suspect.  She is my best friend, most honest critic, and all-around greatest sister ever.  

Add to that, I have friends around the world--and around the corner--texting and emailing their encouragement and support . . . and praying for me.  Some of you are reading this right now.  

So it is with honesty that I say I feel very fortunate.  Suffering is part of life.  ("Life is pain, Highness . . . and anyone who tells you differently is selling something." Wesley, The Princess Bride!)  We all do it in different ways and to different extents.  And whatever struggles we face, to us it sometimes seems insurmountable.  

But I am not sure that everyone who suffers has been surrounded by such an amazing support system.  I certainly do not deserve this kind of love.  I can only bathe in it, as it truly is a healing balm, and pray that one day I will be able to do the same for someone else, hopefully these someone elses.