As some of you may know, for about nine months out of the year I am an educational facilitator of the acoustic arts...I'm a music teacher. When the summer hours arrive I usually turn into something completely different. I am kind of like Jarod from The Pretender (a great show from the late 90's). Okay, maybe not quite, but I have found the opportunity to try my hand at a number of skills and occupations over the years. This summer I have entered the realm of finish carpentry while helping to construct a pseudo log house. The last three weeks have been filled with minor electrical work, building a monstrous staircase, ceiling work, and most recently installing hard-wood floors. This house has more wood than a small forest. It's like you're living in a giant, splotchy tree.
I worked on the same house two summers ago (yes, this house has been in process for the last many summers. That's what happens when teachers are building gigantic tree houses). Two years go we were working on the exterior siding, finishing the roof, and framing the wrap-around porch. It was a lot of work, a lot of heavy lifting, and a lot of hot, summer days on that roof. Today, as I was driving past the construction site on my way to church, I was shocked to find that an entire section of the porch roof had been ripped off and blown away by the storm two nights prior. There in the midst of the great, green, tin, monstrosity was a gaping hole.
In that moment I was struck by two emotional thoughts:
My work has been ripped apart by the brutal and unfeeling savagery of the Montana wilderness. What is the point in all this work if it can be so easily undone in one evening?
and,
Now look at all the work we have to do. We are never going to finish this house. I don't want to go back up on that roof.
Yes, I can become a cynic and a whiner rather abruptly given the right circumstances. I arrived at church in a state of shock and suddenly did not feel like being there. A number of people commented on the destruction because they knew of my connection with the construction and it was a readily available topic for conversation. I don't blame them, but it wasn't exactly pleasant to repeatedly field the question, "So, you have a little extra work to do on the house now, eh?" Yes. Yes, there is more work now.
Everything was building up these feelings of frustration and concern over the completion of this mammoth project. Then I went to Sunday School.
The passage we were discussing this morning was Matthew 6:25-34. These are the words of Jesus in the middle of his sermon "on the mount" where he instructs us not to worry about what we will eat or what we will have to wear. Jesus tells us that God looks after the birds and the flowers, so of course he will look after us. Rather than worry, he tells us to seek the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and the rest will be taken care of.
It was the most interactive Sunday school class I have ever witnessed since I have lived here. As the teacher opened up the discussion for the topic of worry I was surrounded by farmers who were dealing with all the crop damage that the storm caused. This storm wasn't the first to come our way this season either. It seems as though every two to four days we get another storm that drops hail on fields in the area. Here were all these people talking about faith in the midst of worry while dealing with great losses to their very livelihood. I, on the other hand, was worried about a summer project. I technically don't even need the money. It helps, but I could live on my teaching wages through the summer months.
It was as if God was grabbing hold of me and trying to snap me back into his reality.
Michael, this isn't even a matter of food or clothes for you. Why are you so worried by this? Don't you trust that I have this all in my hand and in my plan? Yes, God. I know you are right, and I know you are present in the midst of all these things. Help me to cast all my cares on you, knowing that you care for me.
So there is work to be done, and we will do it. And yes, all of our work, every bit of it, can be destroyed in a moment by any number disasters or calamities be they natural or otherwise. Even when we prepare for every contingency there is always one more that can undo everything that has been done. That is not our problem. Ours is to do the work of God; to seek his kingdom and his righteousness; to do everything to the glory of God and to have faith that he will take care of us as we need.
And so I echo the words of the man who sought Jesus to heal his demon possessed son, "I believe; help my unbelief."
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