Blessing of a Filled Woodshed

Slice of Life: Day 5

Sixteen months ago, our dream of owning a single-family home became a reality. An expensive one, but that is for another time. Our family of five loved our townhouse in Lake Ridge, VA, but the elbow room with three growing girls was diminishing.

With the help and whole-hearted dedication from our realtor – who is now a great friend – we found what we were looking for. And more. Ever read, He Came With the Couch? Well, our house came with a pool. Being older, it quickly consumed all of our money. But with the pandemic causing us to miss out on seeing friends and family, it was an absolute blessing to hang out with people we had not seen in a long time. It also came with a decent-sized yard – something I wanted because I enjoy yard work; planting seeds and flowers, mowing, trimming trees and learn-as-I-go landscaping.

With the heavy snowstorm snapping several branches, I had my work cut out for me. Literally. The piles of sticks, limbs, and branches increased after shaping a tree out back and tearing down a dead one. With the weather in the fifties yesterday and the late afternoon sun shining at the perfect spot, I took my tools out back and began cutting the pile into fire pit-sized pieces. Visions of roaring flames surrounded by friends roasting marshmallows filled my head while the work soothed my spirit. Mat Kearney tunes helped too.

Growing up, we had the most amazing house ever. A small hill off 896 led us back into a world all our own (mostly) where we were isolated in the forest but not too far from school, church and family. Surrounded by woods, there was always something to do. We lived by an unwritten rule, hanging in the hall in its proverbial frame; Though shall work before though shall play. Okay, my Old English needs fine-tuning, but that was the gist. Saturdays were spent mowing, raking and chopping wood – filling up the woodshed, so the stove in the basement never grew cold. The chores instilled a work ethic and a life philosophy of doing it right the first time means you don’t have to do it again. Or, maybe it was if thou doeth right…well, never mind.

What I loved the most was looking out over the property and admiring the freshly laid mulch, trimmed grass, and woodshed filled to the brim. When finished, I’d stand back admiring the work, or rather the change our hard work created. Now, I do the same. Whether it’s a diminishing woodpile or a row of a hundred sunflowers lining the fence, I stand and admire the land. My wife makes fun of me for standing, nodding, hands on my hips, “surveying” because I’m proud of what I’ve done or thinking about what I want to do next.

I feel I need to accomplish something during the day before sitting on the couch at night. Downtime needs to be earned. When my older brother was here a couple of weeks ago, he brought up a good point I hadn’t considered before. He, too, is the same about working and earning time to relax. It’s the blessing of a filled woodshed. He asked me if I think it is related to the expectation of working before playing or going out on dates when growing up. I didn’t need to give it another thought. It’s exactly why.

My dad has resided in heaven since 2005. People do not turn into angels when they die. Another thing I know wholeheartedly is our dearly departed are still part of our lives, looking down (in a way we cannot fathom). I know when my brothers and I are together, or we’re out working in the yard or winning districts in basketball, he isn’t just watching us. He’s surveying, nodding, looking at what he and my mom helped shape. As much as I wish he were helping me with the yard work, I feel his love. I feel him nodding. Proud. 

Originally Published: March 5, 2022

My Grandpa: A Composer of Character and Grace

Yesterday, Pastor Birch did a wonderful job leading the memorial service for my grandpa. My uncle said it best when he shared with me that the best funerals are the ones that are about the person. I couldn't agree more. It is exactly how every funeral - a celebration of life - should be where both touching and funny stories are shared as well as the qualities and quirks that made them a unique individual. 

He was a great role model touching a lot of lives, which was made evident by the size of the gathering showing up to pay their last respects. 

Following is a tribute I wrote for my grandfather. I am very thankful to Pastor Birch for being willing to read it - and for reading it so well. I am touched by the kind words that some of you expressed to me, but I feel a greater sense of gratitude to you for coming and supporting our family. Whether you were local or flew or drove miles and miles, your heartfelt appreciation for my grandfather will not be forgotten.

I also want to thank Diane, Karen and Gayle, for their beautiful music as well as to those who shared stories and memories.

Here is my tribute:

Finding the words to describe a loved one that has passed and how profoundly they have affected my life is never easy. With each passing of a loved one, I reflect on how their lives were grandiose, vibrant, unique, meaningful and prevalent in their overflowing capacity of grace. A grace that was bestowed upon us with every greeting and goodbye and the fulfilled, unforgotten moments in between.

Grandpa was no different.

Twenty years ago, Linda Ellis wrote a poem called The Dash. Since then, I would like to think that most people spend more time reflecting on the small line that separates our earthly birth from our heavenly one. Until that poem was written, that small line encapsulating every hill and valley and triumph and defeat was not contemplated nearly enough. Few have composed such a magnificent life as Grandpa did. If the dash was a badge of honor, he earned it undeniably. If it were a badge representing how many he served with an attitude of grace and how those people were affected by his high standards of character, then he earned it without question.

When it came to a commitment of faith and family, Grandpa raised the bar. God and family were always, without hesitation, first. Just as importantly, it came easily. When church was in session, he'd be there. If there was a lesson to be learned, he'd teach it. When there was time to play ball with his grandsons, an opportunity to show off his fancy pitches – each one with the promise that it was unhittable – he would take it willingly.  If there was a sporting event, a birthday, or anything involving family, he was there. Usually right next to my dad.

Few have composed a magnificent life like Grandpa. He lived his dash with a contagious joy. Comforted by life around him whether birds at the feeder, or great-grandchildren climbing his walker, he enjoyed life like he lived it. To the fullest.

His most significant composition...well, it wouldn't take you long to figure it out if you were peering in through the window during the holidays. I think it's safe to say that his greatest love was his family. From his wife and children all the way down to his great-grandchildren. We are his opus.

Grandpa took every note the Good Lord gave him and composed a symphonic masterpiece. We, the orchestra of instruments, each unique in style, shape and sound play different notes with our own fanfares, but all playing for the same purpose. All playing variations of the same song he hummed and whistled into the fabric of our family. Each instrument, each note playing the tune of character and grace so we, like Grandpa, could epitomize the Great Conductor the best we can.

With our familial leaders only in our spiritual vision, our path looks and feels differently now. By walking together and carrying each other, we continue our journey with our backpacks filled with the tools and gifts given to us by their gracious hands. Grandma and Grandpa lived every day as if it were a beautiful day. Not once did they let one slip away.

I was at your home yesterday and I was reminded of something. It’s not a house that makes a home, but rather the love that resides there.

I love and miss you,

Ryan

Edited 7/25/20