Wood chips flew as the axe sunk deeply into the soft green log. So badly, at times, he wanted to just be like everyone else. Why couldn't he relax after a long hard day? Something within kept at him until he was driven from the house out to the log pile. It had been this way for years.
You might think he was just out for some fresh air or exercise. He didn’t need it, cutting trees all day keeps you in top shape.
Looking back, I believe he was restless. While mopping his brow, his eye would wander to the mountains, much like the mountain men of yesteryear. Given the choice, I believe he would have trekked off into them with his “possibles bag” and his gun. The responsibilities of a family kept him grounded, but I think he never quite felt like he was living the life that would have pleased him most.
Later in life, he channeled some of that energy. He built a business with his sons. He ran a trap-line (to satisfy the mountain man). He educated himself, served in his church and wrote poetry.
Poetry? From the man who couldn’t relax? This may seem odd until you realize that everything he did was an effort to tell his story.
I don’t know if my father ever felt at ease with himself. He slowed down in his later years but that same old restlessness still persisted. I don’t think he realized all he had accomplished. His persistent effort to tell his story lifted his family out of poverty. He opened the way of spiritual fulfillment to his family and many friends. He instilled a love of learning in his son.
The story he told was messy and challenging. I don’t know that it was the story he wanted to tell. All I know is because he had the courage to keep telling it, lives around him were changed for the better.
When your story gets messy and the challenges mount up, keep swinging your axe. You never know where the chips will fall.
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