Labor
“Long
after the thaw, I stay tuned to the grace of physical labor. Bending
and rising to hang laundry on the line, kneeling to scrub yellow
pollen off the back porch, hauling bales of fragrant hay up the steps
to the loft, raking the chicken pens and gathering the eggs: this
work gives me life.”
Barbara
Brown Taylor (An Altar in the World)
I
wonder whether you are a person who loves the physicality of doing
your own work. Most of us live for the day we make enough money to
pay someone else to do it for us. I don't understand why, but I love
to work. I love doing the laundry, putting clean sheets on the bed,
sweeping the wooden floors, and picking up limbs that have fallen in
the yard. There are things that common sense dictates I should not do
now—almost anything that involves getting up on a ladder—and I
feel the loss of those options. Labor is life. It keeps me strong and
fills my days with purpose. When I feel down and lonely, I go in the
kitchen and cook up something delicious, and go to some lengths to
make a pretty plate. Yesterday, I found jonquils and hyacinths
blooming in the yard to decorate my table.
Work,
especially physical labor, keeps us tethered to the life of the body.
Our muscles and lungs and heart are strengthened by bending and
reaching, climbing stairs, carrying groceries and laundry baskets. By
all means, go to the gym, but also know that the labor we do on a
daily basis may be the very thing that saves our life. Caring for our
living space, regardless of how humble it may be, is an act of love
and gratitude—also good for the heart.
Barbara
Brown Taylor writes: “There is no substitute for earthiness. From
dust we came and to dust we shall return. The good news is that most
of us get some good years in between, during which we may sink our
hands in the dirt.” (An Altar in the World) We have the
option these days of being connected only via cyber space, and that
lack of physical connection is showing up in our health and in our
relationship to the planet. Putting our hands into warm water to wash dishes, digging in dirt to plant a tomato or a flower, spreading
mulch, hauling limbs and raking leaves, keep us firmly
planted in Mother Earth. Work is the vehicle for this connection. We
are the appointed stewards, after all. Let labor lift us to higher
ground and better health. It is not beneath us, it is grace from
above.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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