Mr. Fix-It

"Ohh," groaned Jadon on waking. He sounded like he was having a nightmare. When asked if he was okay, he said, "Daddy's finger is finally better and it's raining!"

Yes, it was sprinkling. Phil had gotten up early to put a pipe in a feeder creek to create a bridge, but the rain deterred him. Our tractor tires don't work well in wet soil.

The rain, though welcome, hardly registered in the rain gauge, so after breakfast, we headed out. Because the backhoe was still on the tractor, Phil and I decided to begin our day with tree planting.

While yesterday's planting felt like smiles and hope, today's planting felt hopeless to me. I knew it was ridiculous: Phil would look at a finished tree, with its beautiful ring of peastone to keep the weeds away, and a thrill would wash over him.

I would look at the same tree and see the weeds that will grow around it, and calculate the years it will be until the 3' tree is old enough to bear, and so on.

How do I begin to hope for beauty and productivity when we have yet to see it? How could I persevere for the last several years, but feel so defeated now? Too many disappointed hopes?

I'm discouraged, and it's discouraging to feel like a discouragement to Phil. Not a good way to overcome discouragement.

While we planted, I thought about fear. I don't usually think of myself as fearful: anger, perhaps, is my emotional fault. But I was fearful as I placed a tree in the soil. It might die. It might take a decade to produce.

I've never really related to Old Testament Joshua. He helped Moses, and when Moses died, he took over. God told him multiple times to be "strong and courageous." I confess I scoffed a bit: God had moved in power so many times, why did Joshua need so much reassurance.

Ah. It's because he was dealing with faithless folk. He had a challenging task before him. He had seen multiple miracles, but they were spread over decades; it's easy to forget the wonder in the day-to-day plodding.

I get it now. "Be strong and courageous." If I hear that every day for a while, I think it will not feel repetitious.

By our twelfth tree, the last tree in the row and the last tree for the day, I was rolling up the tape measure when the tractor stopped. "I just killed the internet," said Phil. We were digging near the trench with electrical and water lines. We knew well where the line of the trench was, but had forgotten that the internet line was on top of the ground, and cut a different angle.

Now the line was cut in two.

I would have called our internet provider. We've had a repairman out before. But last time the repairman came, Phil watched his technique. The repairman needed to replace the line last time, but then used a splice technique. Phil drove to Scottsville, then Charlottesville, to get the needed repair tools and pieces, but fixed the internet cable in a short time once he returned home.

Hence, you are able to read about Mr. Fix-It.