We had a MASSIVE pecan tree come down inches away from our house about two weeks ago. Seriously, the tree missed our house and powerline by inches. Only some small damage to our back deck. Praise God for that protection.
Given my situation this is a very timely devotion. With the help of some friends, I've spent multiple hours recently just logging and cutting the tree limbs and branches into manageable sizes to eventually split to store or giveaway.
But this 200+ year old tree has truly been a true source of providence. Providing me a free source of exercise in operating a chainsaw and moving the logs. Providing me a time of fellowship, inviting several men from my town over who've freely given their time to help me clean up the debris. AND providing me a connection to the land I find myself on. I'm responsible for the shepherding of this once living tree into its next acts of service. Instead of providing us food (pecans) and comfort (shade), the three will eventually give light and warmth as we warm ourselves and loved ones around an autumn/ winter fire. And then the ashes will go back into the compost and continue to help fertilize our garden. God's cycle of creation is truly marvelous and never-ending.
I often count the rings in dead trees I cut for firewood. One I cut down with my son was a decade old when Lewis and Clark passed through not far from here. I haven’t taken the time to record and compare tree rings to see when living as a tree was easy and when they lived through drought. Maybe I’ll start doing that.
Had a woodstove growing up. Great and terrible memories haha. I was the only son in my house so I was stackin, rackin, fire-startin, and occasionally smoke-out-the-basement-ing.
So, so good! As a little kid out pulling weeds on the farm, David's dad used to tell him, "There's only a finite number of weeds! Just pull the first, then the next." Of course, weeds are a constantly renewed critter 😅 - but that adage has stuck with David into his own farming career. When the task seems monumental, just take the first step.
Something my dad similarly told me when I was losing my sister - just one foot in front of the other today. Then, again, tomorrow.
We also heat only with firewood. Sure it’s work, but so is paying $400 a month for heating bills. We live in the mountains, are surrounded by forests, use less than two gallons of gas each year to cut and split our wood, and never care if an avalanche takes out a power line.
Chopping and stacking firewood seems like one of those tasks that just has to be surrendered to. I often find that when I’m faced with these kind of tasks I have a lot of resistance at first, but once I realize that it simply must be done, there is a kind of peace in the surrender. There can even be a sense of joy.
Before I began working in ministry, I used to work at a hospital as an Environmental Services Tech, which just means I cleaned patient rooms. I used to hate cleaning the showers. There was no real sense of satisfaction in it, because the shower looked the same before and after cleaning. Not like the satisfaction of a made bed for example.
But eventually it became a task I looked forward to. It was almost a spiritual practice. I will do this task with care because I must.
Really enjoyed this essay...my parents' woodstove is at the center of every one of our family gatherings through late-autumn and winter -- and the ritual of firewood stacking is something we gather 'round, too. ♡
I'm reminded of the pithy phrase, "a wood fire warms you twice." Although maybe less so than chopping, stacking is a physical effort, too. I also see a mental warmth as you puzzle out just where to stick each piece and a final satisfaction with a job well done.
Wonderful word picture, SE. We live in an era when we often fail to take pleasure in tasks for which there are no shortcuts -- stacking wood, say, or building relationships. We become antsy and impatient, on the lookout for hacks and work-arounds. But for some things the stick-by-stick, minute-by-minute effort IS the point. It calls to mind a song lyric by Sara Groves:
"'Cause if you sit at home you're a loser. Couldn't you find anything better to do?
Well, no, I couldn't think of one thing I would rather waste my time on than
Sitting here with you.
And at the risk of wearing out my welcome, at the risk of self-discovery,
I'll take every moment, and every minute that you give me."
Great message, and a much more beautiful way of asking “how do you eat an elephant?”
My house doesn’t have a wood stove, but when I go to the mountains for the winter and stay somewhere, sitting in front of that crackling fire is just magical.
We had a MASSIVE pecan tree come down inches away from our house about two weeks ago. Seriously, the tree missed our house and powerline by inches. Only some small damage to our back deck. Praise God for that protection.
Given my situation this is a very timely devotion. With the help of some friends, I've spent multiple hours recently just logging and cutting the tree limbs and branches into manageable sizes to eventually split to store or giveaway.
But this 200+ year old tree has truly been a true source of providence. Providing me a free source of exercise in operating a chainsaw and moving the logs. Providing me a time of fellowship, inviting several men from my town over who've freely given their time to help me clean up the debris. AND providing me a connection to the land I find myself on. I'm responsible for the shepherding of this once living tree into its next acts of service. Instead of providing us food (pecans) and comfort (shade), the three will eventually give light and warmth as we warm ourselves and loved ones around an autumn/ winter fire. And then the ashes will go back into the compost and continue to help fertilize our garden. God's cycle of creation is truly marvelous and never-ending.
I often count the rings in dead trees I cut for firewood. One I cut down with my son was a decade old when Lewis and Clark passed through not far from here. I haven’t taken the time to record and compare tree rings to see when living as a tree was easy and when they lived through drought. Maybe I’ll start doing that.
Had a woodstove growing up. Great and terrible memories haha. I was the only son in my house so I was stackin, rackin, fire-startin, and occasionally smoke-out-the-basement-ing.
So, so good! As a little kid out pulling weeds on the farm, David's dad used to tell him, "There's only a finite number of weeds! Just pull the first, then the next." Of course, weeds are a constantly renewed critter 😅 - but that adage has stuck with David into his own farming career. When the task seems monumental, just take the first step.
Something my dad similarly told me when I was losing my sister - just one foot in front of the other today. Then, again, tomorrow.
Just stacked 2 good-sized trees worth of cut & split firewood on Labor Day, of all days. Just for the record, I do not find it meditative ... LOL.
We also heat only with firewood. Sure it’s work, but so is paying $400 a month for heating bills. We live in the mountains, are surrounded by forests, use less than two gallons of gas each year to cut and split our wood, and never care if an avalanche takes out a power line.
Chopping and stacking firewood seems like one of those tasks that just has to be surrendered to. I often find that when I’m faced with these kind of tasks I have a lot of resistance at first, but once I realize that it simply must be done, there is a kind of peace in the surrender. There can even be a sense of joy.
Before I began working in ministry, I used to work at a hospital as an Environmental Services Tech, which just means I cleaned patient rooms. I used to hate cleaning the showers. There was no real sense of satisfaction in it, because the shower looked the same before and after cleaning. Not like the satisfaction of a made bed for example.
But eventually it became a task I looked forward to. It was almost a spiritual practice. I will do this task with care because I must.
Really enjoyed this essay...my parents' woodstove is at the center of every one of our family gatherings through late-autumn and winter -- and the ritual of firewood stacking is something we gather 'round, too. ♡
I'm reminded of the pithy phrase, "a wood fire warms you twice." Although maybe less so than chopping, stacking is a physical effort, too. I also see a mental warmth as you puzzle out just where to stick each piece and a final satisfaction with a job well done.
Wonderful word picture, SE. We live in an era when we often fail to take pleasure in tasks for which there are no shortcuts -- stacking wood, say, or building relationships. We become antsy and impatient, on the lookout for hacks and work-arounds. But for some things the stick-by-stick, minute-by-minute effort IS the point. It calls to mind a song lyric by Sara Groves:
"'Cause if you sit at home you're a loser. Couldn't you find anything better to do?
Well, no, I couldn't think of one thing I would rather waste my time on than
Sitting here with you.
And at the risk of wearing out my welcome, at the risk of self-discovery,
I'll take every moment, and every minute that you give me."
Great message, and a much more beautiful way of asking “how do you eat an elephant?”
My house doesn’t have a wood stove, but when I go to the mountains for the winter and stay somewhere, sitting in front of that crackling fire is just magical.