A Divine Lift
““Straighten her out”, he yelled, so I yanked at the wheel, and watched in my mirror as the tailgate approached the deck, my dyslexic mind trying to flip things correctly, to avoid a crash. “Stop” he signaled, emphatically, and I was happy to. Relief flooded my brain. Emergency brake in place, I hopped out, and we gathered near the rear of the vehicle, to assess. We stood gazing upon the tarped object, and collectively, collaborated in silence for a moment. I admit, I’m never sure who is in charge. I generally like to farm out decisions to the able bodied, who’ve managed impossible jobs like this before, pre-dating my entry onto construction sites. Some kids grew up with dads or uncles who routinely demonstrated the ropes of common sense heavy lifting. I did not. Mine liked fine clothes, and could whip off broadway show tunes on piano like nobody’s business. A useful vocation, but not here, not now. How to get a massive wood stove off a truck is solely the empire of rural royalty. “I forgot the dolly”, he said. He’d mentioned a refrigerator dolly & I’d encouraged it. However, I realized that the operative verb is that you do it anyway. Freezing rain began to spit from the sky, and the day was dimming. You have to work it how it is. “Okay,” I said, with feigned enthusiasm. He began to pull out some apparatus I was unfamiliar with. Shoulder straps. I admit, it seemed implausible, but what do I know. I took a step back. “Okay” I repeated, this time knowing that what was about to occur was beyond my ken. Trust, is key. When you have built relationships with capable individuals, you know when to let go and let whatever is going to happen, happen. “You can go in the utility room door, or the back door”. I’d moved a few things in advance, trying to clear the path. Dragged ceramic pots full of dying plants, off to the side; removed porch furniture and the like. They harnessed up in the growing gloom, still joking a bit about my penchant for replacing wood stoves, still buoyant in tone, which is always my clue to stand aside. I could only hold my breath as they positioned themselves for the lift. Two strong men. one larger, one smaller, both game for the challenge. There would be a step down, from the tailgate, to the deck. I silently did not want injuries, which my daughter echoed with the studied reassurance of her nursing school training, embedded into the calm, firm invective of her voice.. They readied, and raised. It was a divine lift, from my oddly avoidant perspective. I was not in control, but somehow, I had brought it all into manifestation. I felt both guilty, and visionary, reaching for something, but not able to do it without the strength of others. Here is my lesson, I thought, a lesson of age, I thought, a lesson of faith. For we can’t do it all alone, the things we see that we know will bring future joy, & future warmth, and ease. The responsibility to honor the work of others, and follow through by opening doors of welcome to all, is mine, is yours. I’ll continue to put my shoulder to it. Maybe not with straps, but with the whole conviction to uphold the best that each of us can offer, and bring into focus, each extraordinary act. This is always, just the beginning. May our fires burn bright, in the face of the ineffable destruction of our world. Not ours, not ever. As long as our forests are still standing, we will be able to shelter, and nurture, our own.”