I CUSSED

I cussed last week. Which made me even more frustrated at the failing of my frail flesh. It wasn’t out loud, but it was cussing that I kept inside my mind, letting the poison do its work.

I don’t lose the battle with my flesh near as much as I used to, but I got my clock cleaned last week.

I realize that it gets easier to live above the flesh as we get older. One of the biggest factors is age itself.

Another reason to leave the jumping to conclusions and flying off the handle to the younger generations is that we’ve figured out how much energy it takes… not to mention the fact that we’re already plum tuckered.

One of the other reasons that it gets easier to live above the failing flesh is the many gifts we tend to overlook.

I enjoy using my hands. I’ve used them to build a lot of things, but with the decades and evolution of business much has changed. The tools I used to use are different than the ones I use now. These days a computer and cell phone have replaced hammers and saws.

We all get to deal with frustrations, but physical ones seem to have a more immediate effect… which is why I cussed last week before I even knew it was on the tip of my mind.

Maybe it’s more instinct based on the bygone days when cussing and chewing tobacco were just part of the day… along with frustrations.

The crew wasn’t my regular one, good guys, just lacking experience. Especially for “seeing” my vision that the blueprints, for some things, exist only in my mind.

I cussed

The stringer is the center support piece.

The beam saw I used to cut the single glue laminated beam stringer that weighed around five hundred pounds is obsolete. They don’t make them anymore. Those saws lopped off too many fingers, hands, and arms. Yeah, the massive and jagged blade is bigger than a commercial table saw… set in a handheld gigantic cartoon sized handsaw.

After a couple of days of holding the gargantuan saw, focusing on not letting it cut any of my body parts off, my energy and patience were gone like the good ol’ days.

Splinters in the hands, sawdust in the eyes, and ears, blisters, and sweat rolling into my eyes. Back aching from bending over with the widow maker in my hands, I was a man on the edge.

It must have been the thousandth trip over a block of wood that broke the camel’s back. #&*%@!!!, I yelled to myself in my mind, spittin’ sawdust out of my mouth to no avail, giving in and just swallowing it.

We get into our comfortable worlds that are really the gifts from God and we forget the difficulties that others live with daily.

I need to count my gifts and be more understanding when I judge or give advice because I’m no better than anyone else. Just forgiven… even though I cussed last week.