In all the recent rain and after a week away, my lawn had turned into a meadow. With a few hours in the afternoon to mow before the next rainstorm came in and in a hurry to get the job done before teaching my class at 6, I filled up the tank, started the engine, backed out of the garage, and made a few turns around the yard. I don’t mind the task; having a riding mower it’s kind of nice to go back and forth across the lawn with nothing but engine noise and the smell of grass for an hour and a half. But something was wrong. . . .I looked, and…a flat tire. Shoot.
No problem, I had time to get to the store and buy that air compressor I’d been meaning to get anyway. Was back in 45 minutes, opened it up, read the directions, pumped up the tire, and was ready to go. Another turn around the yard, and something was still not right. I shut down the engine and looked again.
Sure enough, a copper wire was lodged in the tire. Without thinking, I pulled it out. A hiss, and there went the tire, flat. Again. I called Louie, at Cold Spring Lawn and Tractor (Bless him). “Well, you can buy a new one,” he said, “or if you pop it off and bring it here I’ll put a tube in it and save you some money.”
“Uh, take the tire off?”
“Sure!” he said, like it was easy. “You’ll have to jack the mower up, and then you just take off the hubcap, take a screwdriver and pop off the c- clip, remove the washers and it should just slide right off.” He took my silence for a yes. “I’ll be here, just bring it down.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll see you in a bit.”
I put some blocks of wood under the axle, banged them in with a hammer to lift up the mower, and then the trouble began. There were various attempts with an assortment of tools. Some choice words. A little stress. Fifteen minutes later, I called him back. “Hi Louie, it’s Leslie again. I can’t get it off.”
“The hubcap!!” The pliers won’t fit, and the wrench slides off the plastic!” Can I cut it?”
“Sure, I’ve got a bunch, I’ll give you one.”
“Okay, I’ll probably call you back.”
What’s underneath the plastic hubcap was unrecognizable, covered in what looked like tar. I didn’t see a clip, or washers. Back to the phone.
“Hey,” he says, “How’s it going?”
“I don’t know what it is, and it’s covered in tar.”
“Oh, that’s just grease. I like grease. Just wipe it off and then you can take a picture of it and send it to my wife’s phone. You have a smart phone? Then I’ll run upstairs from the shop and look at it and tell you what it is.”
Now there were dirty paper towels scattered among the hammer, screwdrivers, exacto knife, pliers and two wrenches. I sent the picture; he texted back. “It’s a C-clip.”
Another 10 minutes with three different screwdrivers. The clip finally popped off, went flying. There was some swearing at this point. I pulled the washers off. I pulled the tire, sitting in the driveway with a foot braced on either side. It did not move. I switched positions, leaned back. Tried again. I tried for a while. I checked my watch. I kicked the tire.
“I don’t get it- everything’s off! It’s not moving!”
“Well, sometimes, you just gotta bang it.”
“With a hammer. Bang it with a hammer.”
With pleasure. I banged it, and talked to it at the same time. “WHY won’t YOU come OFF?”
And then it moved, a little. I pulled, and finally the tire was on the ground. I raised my fists and make a victory sound like a yeti: “Uuuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Twenty minutes and twenty dollars later, I was back with a pumped up tire, only this time I needed the car jack to get the mower high enough to slide the tire back on. When I was done, I gave another victory salute and pick up the tools.
And what was my reward for all this work? I got to mow the lawn.
As I was relating this story to my brother, complete with sound effects, I said, “And after all that, I just get to do what I am supposed to do anyway.” Zen Master Doug replies, “Of course. It’s all about the process.”
Yes. Yes it is. Can I relate most things in life to the spiritual journey? Yes. Yes I can. And most of the time I can go with it. Most of the time, I feel that I am on a path in the company of Spirit, doing the things that I discern the Divine has called me to do. Except. Except for when I get busy, or when I’ve got more than one agenda, or am in a hurry, or don’t know what to do, or feel dumb and have to ask for help, or try really hard and nothing seems like it’s moving. You know, like how life happens.
But here’s what did happen. I learned to concentrate on one thing, one step at a time. (Again.) I remembered to slow down. (Again.) I asked for help and got it. (Again.) I tried really hard and nothing moved . . .at first. (Again.) And then it did.
You know, like how life happens.
And so, for you and for me, here’s hoping that our struggles small and large teach us again of how life happens, and how God happens. May the process (Because it’s all about the process) of grace, and love, gratitude, and peace, happen, even if we do sound like a yeti occasionally.