Complexity

Sitting in my chair, freshly brewed coffee in my mug, I’m staring out across the trees shrouded in fog. Staring into space is one of my luxuries in that brief time from just a few minutes before dawn until it’s time to rouse out the rest of the family, all belonging to other parents.

‘This is good,’ my internal dialogue goes, ‘this is a simple life.’ I no more think that until my mental eraser comes out. There is nothing simple or straight-forward in rural Tennessee. Certainly not the road that carries us the twenty-two miles from Lee and Dorothy Crabtree’s lovely home to the Morgan-Scott project. Nothing simple in planning meals, or construction projects, when it might well be thirty miles one way to get supplies. Living here, near the top of the ridge on Sawmill Road, is way more complex than my urban life back home.

‘Why don’t you stay home and work on homes in your city, and sleep in your own bed?’ says one of my distant friends. Why, indeed. There’s certainly a need for volunteer work in Lansing. For me, it’s the people. The spirit within our hosts who have graciously given us this basement apartment for a week, the spirit within Ella and Bill, Junior and Crystal, Pastor Tom. Each giving of themselves to care for others, a sense of generosity that flows deeply in all they do.

Almost always we are overwhelmed by the generosity of the homeowner’s whose homes we are working on. Jack and Doris, 91 and 88 respectively, who made lunch-time dinner for five people they have never met, nor likely to see again. We did the very best work we could do on the 4×8 deck, and 4×10 ramp. These wooden parts are put together with care so that Jack and Doris will be able get in and out of their home safely.

The roads in this neck of the woods are twisty-turny, requiring your full attention even when you’re sweaty and tired from working in the hot and humid weather. Google Maps tells me that our commute would take over three hours from our home away from home, to our worksites, and the project. There’s some eight thousand feet of uphill, and over eight thousand feet down. Get out your road atlas and look at I-75 from Kentucky into Tennessee. Most maps show this area that we laughed, cried and sweat from our eyes to our toes as empty space. This is not a simple life, no, far from a simple life. But for a week or two, every year or two, this becomes my life and my home.