My forearms have matching, stinging, scratches on them—each about 4 inches long. My wrists show signs of abrasions just below the line of the gloves that I was wearing. Generally my hands are a bit sore and so making a fist causes some ‘cracking’ of my knuckles as the tension is released. Finally, I have a strange rash that has grown between most of my fingers. Before it was seeping and oozing, now it is dry at scratched up. Blood blisters surround some of them.
And to be honest. . . It feels good to see these wounds because of what they represent.
Community.
This weekend the work continued on removing (or cleaning up) the trees from around the manse. Tom and I split, by hand, the very large stump that sat on the west side of our property. Its diameter was at least 6 feet across. He and I spent Saturday morning driving my one splitting chisels through the tree with JonMark’s sledgehammer so that we could break pieces off. With each split piece, Tom and I would lift the pieces, together, into my truck. Each piece took all we had to lift. Then each piece could be driven over to the burn pile and be consumed in the fire. We did this for a few hours and both of us were very, very tired. But it felt good. And I gained some of those wounds in the work.
Then Sunday, the work began again, as our neighbor, Clint, needed to have a dead oak tree removed from his property before it fell onto Plains Church and stuck the power lines. So, JonMark, Jennifer, and I, joined Rich, his nephew Scott, and Rich’s brother Larry, and our neighbor Bobby, in helping Clint. Mark the tree-remover was back with a lift and he and his helper, Bill, removed the tree piece by piece down. We hauled them off with tractors and trailers. We cut the branches up into manageable sizes, and disposed of the leaves. We stacked and split the firewood in piles and loaded some into Scott’s truck, Bobby’s trailer, and Rich’s trailer.
By late afternoon, we were all spent. Yet there was a sense of joy in the work. Being part of a community means that we are willing to do this. And I, and we, would happily walk over there right now and do it again.
Peter Block writes that,
"Community. . . is about the experience of belonging. . . First and foremost, to belong is to be related to and a part of something.”
My family is part of a community in this neighborhood. We belong to it. We care for “it" and “it" cares for us. And because we belong to this community, to this neighborhood, we will serve it faithfully and consistently—even if that means working to our breaking point. We will work together and not leave anyone to work alone. We value the community and we wish to foster its growth.
When we were done working, Clint looked at me and said with sawdust on his face, “I can’t thank you enough. If you ever need anything, at home, at church, whatever. You call me, and I’ll be there.” He is part of our community and I am thankful for the bruises and scratches that I offered up to help him. As I said, I would do it again, as I know Rich, Scott, Larry, Jennifer, JonMark, and Bobby would.
I wonder, who, or what, would you define as your community? What do you belong to? And when you identify that, notice how committed you are to the people of that community and give thanks to God for them.
Blessings
Rev. Derek
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