There is a season... Turn, turn
I’ve about reached the end of my rope. I could handle getting old, and I could handle being sick, but both at once is more than this old frame can bear. We got slammed with snow here in Indiana the last few days. My job at the fairgrounds still includes keeping the lots and sidewalks clear, so yesterday I was out there most of the day battling it, just trying to keep things open for an event. I can’t remember ever being so glad to hear the words “We’re shutting it down.” They canceled the rest of yesterday and today too. Indiana doesn’t throw many tantrums anymore, but when winter decides to roar, it roars loud.
This morning the wind finally laid down and the snow quit falling, so I went back out. You couldn’t tell I’d done a lick of work except my snow piles kept getting taller. I thought I’d just fire up the snow blower and finish the sidewalks. Guess what’s still sitting at the repair shop where its been since August? Exactly. So I grabbed a shovel. Ten minutes later my lungs were on fire, my back was screaming, and I knew if I didn’t quit they’d be scraping me out of a snowbank come daylight.
Old age by itself I can take. Sickness by itself I can fight. But this tag-team has me flat whipped.
Back in June they cut my hours in half—“for my health,” they said. All it did was steal the overtime I used to bank for winter. Now winter’s here, and I’m scrubbing toilets and mopping floors I apparently don’t even do that very well anymore.
I’m not much use to the fairgrounds these days, and most days I’m not much use to myself. Packing a single box for an eventual move leaves me gasping after ten minutes and begging my back to ease up.
Honestly, it feels like the Lord is closing this chapter whether I’m ready or not. Maybe that’s what He does when His kids keep trying to carry loads they were never meant to shoulder forever.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
I’m clinging to that promise with everything I’ve got left.
The apostle Paul knew something about bodies that don’t cooperate:
“That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
Lord, let it be so.
David cried out the same exhaustion I feel:
“My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.”
And when the psalmist felt hemmed in on every side:
“From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
I’m not too proud to admit I’m at the end of myself. These days I’m living Isaiah’s promise by the hour:
“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”
Right now I’d settle for just walking without fainting.
I hate whining, so I’ll hush. But if you’re the praying sort, I’d be grateful for one sent up for a worn-out old man who’s about out of steam. One day soon, by God’s grace, I’ll lay this shovel down for good and go Home where there’s no more snow, no more pain, and no more tired.
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
Until then, I’m leaning hard on Jesus. Thanks for listening, friends.
DMMC
11-30-25
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