I Can’t Do This

So, this is the bathroom I’ve been hearing about!

We’ve been remodeling the old house for months now.  Soon, we’ll be living in the Lovely Lady’s childhood home.  Our hard work is beginning to pay off and I think the place is looking pretty nice.

A few folks in the neighborhood have stopped by to see how the work is progressing.  Everyone likes the bathroom.

Strange, isn’t it?  They also like the other rooms we’ve worked on, but the bathroom is the one they exclaim about.

I like the bathroom, too.  It’s turned out very nicely.  All in all, a comfortable space.

I stood in the middle of that room earlier tonight as a neighbor expressed her surprise at how beautiful it is now and I had a moment.  You know.  One of those moments.

The kind of moment when you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  The realization hit me that we had actually finished it.  There was elation in that moment.

Done!  It’s done.

There was another emotion in play, as well.  I am reluctant to speak of it.

Really, I am reluctant.  I have sat, staring at the monitor for a long time, not sure I can write the words.  But, I think it’s important, so I’ll give it a shot.

Do you know how it feels to stand, faced with a job you know—absolutely know—you are not up to, and yet recognize that you have no choice but to try?

Have you ever simply stood and looked at a task, thinking I can’t do this, for hours?  Seriously.  Hours.

I lay under that house one day, pipe wrench in hand, having once again failed in my task, screaming—Really. Screaming!—at the pipes above, and then at myself, and yes—at God for putting me in that situation.

Again and again, in the course of the work, I was paralyzed by failure and fear—certain I was at the end of my resources.

I was sure I could only fail.  Absolutely and finally.

Two points, I want to make here.  More will come to mind, but I’ll stop at two:

1) When we look only at the problem and refuse to look past it to the solution, we ensure failure.  At least until we can change our focal point.  There is always a solution.  Always.

2) You’re never on your own in solving the problem.  Whether it was guys who wanted to offer advice—marginally better, to my mind, than sitting and staring at the offensive piece while imagining complete and utter failure—or whether it was friends and family who actually could help with the physical work, there was always someone to help bear the burden.

I suppose the reader will understand if I make it clear I am not simply talking about a remodel on a house here.  Sure, that has been my mountain to climb for the last few months, but it’s certainly not the only mountain there is.

Unclimbable, some of those mountains.  A person might be tempted to sit and wonder how in the world God expects us to get over that gargantuan pile of rock and rubble—perhaps, never even attempting the ascent.

Some have suggested the mountain need not be attempted at all.  Well?  Didn’t Jesus teach His disciples they could tell the mountain to be moved from one place to another if they had faith the size of a mustard seed? (Matthew 17:20)

Leaving aside the fact I’m not sure I have that huge a faith (have you seen the size of a mustard seed???), I want to assure you we don’t get to remove the mountains God has put in front of us in that manner.

It’s a funny thing, but when God puts mountains in our way, it is to help us grow in faith.  James says it’s a joy to have our faith tested, because it develops endurance. (James 1:2-4)

I’m not sure I would call it a joy.  These last few months haven’t been a walk in the park.

That said, the mountain cannot—will not—be prayed away.  God put it there for a reason.  There is only one way to the other side.  Over.

Over.

Now, when I look at the result (and, I’m still not only talking about that bathroom), there is joy in knowing what has been accomplished. 

Great joy.

And shame.  For my doubt.  Fading, but still there.

Is the mountain in front of you bigger than you can conquer? Good! Click To Tweet

Is the mountain in front of you bigger than you can conquer?

Good!  You’ll be stronger when you get to the other side.

Stronger.

Wiser.

Ready for the next mountain still ahead.  A mountain you don’t have the strength to conquer.  

Yet.

We’re still traveling.

Headed home.

 

Every mountain top is within reach if you just keep climbing.
(from Kilimanjaro and Beyond ~ Barry Finlay ~ Canadian author)

 

I look up to the mountains—
    does my help come from there?
 My help comes from the Lord,
    who made heaven and earth!

The Lord keeps you from all harm
    and watches over your life.
 The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go,
    both now and forever.
(Psalm 121: 1-2, 7-8 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Unlikely Heroes

In the cover of darkest night, the old man weeps.  Alone, he cries until no more tears will come, and still the sobs torment his body.

The time was when he couldn’t shed a single tear.  When very little seemed to touch his heart.  Except harsh reality.  Retribution and reward.  Hard work.

That was before.

So many who walked beside him have gone on ahead now.

oldmandespairStill he walks.  Nearly alone now.

Once, he saw the road ahead clearly.  Almost, it seems, the light of their presence helped to make the way plain for miles ahead.

Bereft of that light, he hasn’t abandoned the way.

And yet, almost as if their presence in his life still yields a flickering beam of candlelight, his dimming eyes can make out the road ahead.  Just barely.

Heroic acts can do that, you know.  Something of their aura clings to the hero.

And yes, I called him a hero.  Many who are never acknowledged as such perform the acts of heroes daily.

No.  Not the type of hero feats performed on the battlefield, nor even those accomplished in lifesaving acts on mountainsides or in the depths of dark waters.

The acts of a hero are sometimes simply to live as one promises to live, to act as one has sworn to act, to stay when one has given his word to stay.

The old man has done all that, and more.  Ofttimes, the hero is a wife, or a mother, or a brother.

We don’t talk about it.  Perhaps it is part of our contract with the young and energetic, but we don’t speak of the ultimate cost.

Maybe we should.

The young home health specialist was obviously uncomfortable as I spoke with him about it the other day.  But then again, he may not be all that young—simply younger than I.  Still, he was reluctant to speak the words.

I asked him if the situations in which he found himself daily were surprising or uncomfortable for him.  He chose his words carefully.

“I love home health work.  Still, there are things that go on in those homes that you wouldn’t believe.  Horrible, painful things.  And, beautiful things.

Refusing to name the horrible, painful things, he instead described folks who take care of their loved ones from daybreak to nighttime and, many times, on through the night.  Their tasks are dirty and uncomfortable.  The regularity with which they are called upon to perform the tasks is constant, with no end in sight.

The years stretch out ahead.  Still, they stay.

I marvel.  In part, I marvel at the hardships that await at the end of our lives, or sometimes surprisingly, early in them.  More than that, I marvel at the audacity of someone who would willingly attend such events.

Still, we don’t speak aloud of the hardships, especially to the young.

I was present at a wedding the other evening.  It was beautiful—the bride, gorgeous and so happy.  The groom, a young man I have known since he was a small boy, beamed from ear to ear with his beautiful young wife hanging on his arm.  And, so he should.

Youth is a heady time of life.  Indestructible and self-confident, no hint of hardship fazes us.  Bring it on!  We can handle anything!  Anything.

The Lovely Lady and I hugged the beautiful young bride and her handsome husband, as I joked that the wedding had gone perfectly.

“That was the easy part.  Now comes the hard stuff.”

The words came from my mouth lightly.  The pair acknowledged the veracity of my statement, perhaps a little more seriously than I intended.  But, the innocence in their beaming faces gave evidence that their young minds had not yet imagined the path their promises on that night will lead them upon.

And, perhaps that’s the way it should be.  Love, if it is indeed love, is a journey beside one another—a growing together, a gathering consciousness of shared joys and pains; of approaching illnesses that will change life for both.

Still, I wonder.  When the young begin their journey together, we throw huge, extravagant parties—celebrations of good intentions, of great hopes.

And when, after years of walking with those one loves and interminable nights of performing unspeakable tasks because of that love, the shared journey comes to an end, there is no celebration whatsoever.

The hero is unsung.  The herculean task of caring for the person one loves is passed over as if it never happened.

It happened.

It happened.

Somehow though, it seems incongruous to celebrate in the face of sorrow and pain.  I wonder if it’s a stretch to think that perhaps, there’ll be a special place of honor for these heroes at the wedding feast of the Lamb.  (Revelation 19:8-9)  After all, who understands marriage better among mankind than those who have fulfilled their oaths to the last breath?

But then again, I think the words of praise from the Lord as he’s welcomed into heaven will be celebration enough.

Well done!  You’ve been a good, faithful servant.  It’s time for you to rest. (Matthew 25:21)

Promises kept build the character of a man.  Debts paid strengthen the integrity of the person.

The old man stood on my porch last weekend and, barely holding back the tears, told me she was gone.  After sixty-six years, he is alone.  

I reminded him of her love for him and his care for her, and he brightened, if only for a moment.  It hadn’t been a storybook marriage, but both had fulfilled their promises.  And then some.

I wish it were time for celebration.  

But, in his room alone, he weeps.

The day is coming.  It is.

The celebration is still ahead.  Crowns will be distributed to the heroes.  And then, offered again to the Hero of Heroes.  

Tears—those evidences of present sorrows that our God counts precious—will by His own hand, be wiped from our eyes.

The old man is waiting for the day.

So am I.

.  

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.
(1 Corinthians 9:24-25 ~ NIV)

 

You will never do anything in this world without courage.  It is the greatest quality of the mind next to honor.
(Aristotle ~ Greek philosopher ~ 384 BC-322 BC)

 
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.