Thoughts From a Wood Day

If you may recall, my husband and I installed our very own wood stove into our home after our first winter of living here and paying $500 a month to heat it via propane (the only option in our neighborhood).

Our wood stove has been a huge blessing for us--I've always loved the feeling of sitting next to the warm fire and feeling it warm me down to my bones.  Since we have a wood stove, however, we necessarily have to get fuel for said stove, and so we have "Wood Days" every year, where my parents, siblings, kids and I (and sometimes my husband, when he's not working/schooling/studying) go out and get wood.  Wood Days are usually long, drawn-out processes where we get permits, load everyone (and a picnic lunch) up into my parent's 15-passenger van, and drive up into the mountains to cut wood all day and then haul it home in a trailer.

This year, however, my parents invested in paying someone to haul a bunch of logs from a burned-out area to their back lot, and we had our Wood Day at home, which was much more convenient, I must say. 

I'm personally a fan of indoor plumbing.

This had to have been, hands down, my favorite Wood Day ever.  It was fun to see my younger brothers working the axes like pros:

Reminds me of the scene from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers where they're all dancing in the snow while chopping wood: "A man can't sleeeeeep when he sleeps with sheeeeeep...." *whack*

My dad spent a majority of the time with the chainsaw, although I took the chance to work it on a log of my own--for those of you who don't know it, working a chainsaw takes quite a bit of upper-body strength, which is something I tend to be rather lacking in, apparently-by the time I had completed only four or five cuts, I was shaking and needed to go sit down for a minute to catch my breath!!

And yet my dad made it look so simple.

He was also good at chopping wood, as were Abe and McKay--I worked on the ax for a little while, as well, and wasn't even remotely successful at anything other than getting the ax lodged into the wood hard enough that I couldn't get it out again.

It was funny to watch my kids' reactions to Abe and McKay's skills with the ax, though--every time they'd split a piece, my kids would clap and cheer as if it was the coolest thing they'd ever seen!


I never got any cheering, though.... for good reason.  I mean, look at that form.

Pitiful.

At one point, Dad took a break from the chainsaw, picked up an ax and a log, and effortlessly, with one swing, split the wood so sharply that it went flying.  The kids were beside themselves with awe, and Jack shrieked, "WOW!!  You're the best, Grandpa!!!!"

My dad bashfully grinned at me, and I knew he'd just done the one piece to impress his grandkids with how strong Grandpa still was--even at 50-plus years old.

It was basically adorable.

As was watching my kids haul wood.

I made sure to take these pictures earlier in the day, before they got tired of it (Jack was the first to decide that carrying wood back and forth was no longer fun), and you can see how messy their faces are already--

By the end of the day, when I had them all take a bath, the bathwater kind of just ended up as a gray sludge.  It was rough, lemme tell ya.

Because, you know, we were carrying around already-partially-singed wood.  Which means black soot EVERYWHERE.

As we were carrying the wood for quite a few hours, Jack got frustrated by it after a while.  He was tired, he was cranky, and he wasn't used to working in quite this way (it's been over a year since our last Wood Day), so I made a deal with him that he had to keep carrying wood until we loaded the pickup bed all the way.  At this point, it was about three-quarters of the way full, and all Jack could see was how much more wood needed to be carried, not how much he'd already accomplished.

He got more and more worked up (as Clark and Maggie cheerfully plugged away, carrying Jack's share of the wood for him without complaint), and after a while, he was in a full-blown panic attack, still only able to see how tired he was and how he didn't WANT to carry more wood in.

By this time, the pickup was almost full and I was at the end of my rope, so I made a new deal with him: if he carried only three more pieces of wood, he'd be done.  I even bribed him, telling him that we'd have ebelskivers and hot chocolate waiting for him after he was finished, but he couldn't even think about that.  He genuinely didn't have the ability to think about anything beyond how much he didn't want to do what he was being asked to do.

This kid is strong, folks, and he could have easily carried three more pieces at once if he'd wanted to--but he didn't see that.  He was focused on how miserable he was and how he wanted someone else to do his job for him, and so he cried and whined and stalled and waited while everyone else continued to encourage him, work with him, and even fill the pickup bed for him.  He took at least twenty more minutes to pick up his last three pieces (which worked out for me, because it insured that we got a full pickup load), and he was sobbing the ENTIRE TIME.

In case you're wondering, yes, I believe in child labor, because although I could have filled the pickup in half the time (and effort) if I hadn't been following my kids around to make sure they were working hard, I wanted my kids to learn how to work.  I knew that it would be good for them to learn to work for themselves, and I knew that the lessons learned would be worth the effort and time it took for me to follow through.

As Jack would stand there, with a piece of wood at his feet, crying, it was so tempting for me to pick up the piece for him, put it in his hands, and carry him over to the pickup, just to get the BLASTED job done--but I didn't, because I knew that he needed to do his job for himself.  I couldn't do it for him without doing some severe damage along the way and possibly teaching him habits that might influence him for a long time.

At one point, he had taken his last piece of wood over to the tailgate of the pickup.  My mom was standing in the back of the pickup, leaning over to take the wood from him, and she asked him to lift it just to the level of the tailgate.  He stood there crying for about five minutes about how he COULDN'T DO IT and how he was SO TIRED before he finally gave in and lifted it the inch higher my mom needed so she could reach to take it from him.  When she took it from him, we all cheered and clapped and gave him hugs and high fives to celebrate him getting the job done.

After he'd been placated with ebelskivers and hot chocolate, it was funny to see how proud he was that he'd accomplished so much.

Photo credit to tracimaglebyrecipes.blogspot.com

Mmmmmm....ebelskivers.....

It was interesting to see a shadow of myself in my little guy.  

Heavenly Father often gives me loads to bear (He does that, you know), and sometimes, I cheerfully and happily bear them, without complaint and with a good attitude.

Sometimes.

Other times, I get focused on how HARD it is and how UNFAIR it is and how I DON'T WANT TO BEAR THE BURDEN He's given me.  

I whine and I cry until my eyes are red and puffy and the snot is running clear down my face (fun fact about me: I'm an ugly crier) and I pray and complain: "Heavenly Father, this is JUST TOO HARD.  I can't do it.  I don't want to do it.  I know that You are asking me to carry this burden, but I can't.  I can't.  I just can't do this anymore."

I focus on how miserable I am, and I just can't SEE the rewards He has promised me, nor the giving hands around me helping me to bear my burdens and lifting me along my way.  When I'm focused on the burden itself, I tend to panic and fear and think that there's no way I can lift just ONE more thing just THAT much higher.

But He still continues to lovingly help me, to encourage me, to coach me along the way.  "C'mon--you can do it.  I'm right here, arms outstretched to take your burden--you just have to give it to me.  That's all you have to do."

And I cry even harder and think there's no way I can give up my burden and think that it's just too hard to lift it that much higher, even if it's just to give it up to Him, and sometimes I stall and stay miserable for a while--and He lets me.  He always waits, patiently, until I finally decide to give it to Him, because He knows me and what I can accomplish and when I'm ready.

And then, when I do give my burden to Him, looking at Him through my red-rimmed eyes as He takes it from me, I feel the peace and the reward that come from doing the job He asked me to do.  I feel the relief that comes from finally giving my burden up to Him.

How grateful I am for a Heavenly Father who obviously understands a lot more about what I can and need to learn than I do.