Splitting Firewood

My friends Mark and Carol have been visiting us this last week. They have both been such a blessing to have visit. Mark made the foolish statement that he wanted to help out around the place. Its been like having my own personal slave having a guy friend around. We split firewood that was left on the property when we moved in. It was such fun that we drove the big, ugly 4x4 truck up into the national forest, plunging through ruts deeper than my kid's heads, knocking over bushes and sinking deep into mud puddles the size of lake Michigan, to get to some standing dead trees. It was quite an adventure.

We finally found an 80 ft. ponderosa pine that had 'Cut me down' written all over it. I fired up the chainsaw and began cutting. After a few minutes we both ran cowering far away as it came crashing down. So to answer the age old question 'If a tree falls in the forest, is it still the male gender's fault?' the answer is 'yes!'

We took turns cutting the monster up into pieces neither one of us could carry, which forced us to have to work together - a deeply humbling prospect for guys. Truth be told, when we walked out of the woods, several miracles happened. Mark was ten years younger and his hair wasn't white any more, and I had rippling muscles and all my hair back. Something about working a chainsaw that long can really do wonders for the male ego. We actually stood taller, even if only in our own minds.

I realized the next morning two very important things - the first was the sudden, embarrassing realization that I'm not 25 any more, (translated that means I hurt like hell the next day), and secondly, there is something deeply fulfilling about doing some hard physical labor with a good friend. I hate to admit it, but Mark is almost ten years older than I am, and he kicked my butt out there in the lumberjack world. When we got home, he wanted to split it all. I took the initiative to have him evaluated for mental illness.

I often think about Jesus the Messiah, or Jesus the healer, or Jesus the Lord. But it doesn't cross my mind much that Jesus was a carpenter far more years than He was a savior. He knew hard work. He knew lifting timbers and carving wood. He knew sweat on his brow and deep grit embedded in his hands. Interesting to note that the very tools of His trade for thirty years also became the instruments that were used to kill him.

I am thankful that the 80 ft. ponderosa didn't kill us. And I am ever grateful to have a Lord who understands hard work and has walked every step of this life before me. And I am especially blessed to get to hang in the words with a good friend and a really great savior.