When I was a young man I was angry at my mother for stopping me from playing football. Although I was thin as a teenager, I am very tall, 6 foot 5 inches with very long arms (37 inch sleeves on my shirts), and quick reflexes. When the adrenalin was pumping, I had no sense of pain. The few days that I played for try outs, I gave the ball carriers fits. I would have done well. But Mom stopped me. She was worried about injuries.
At the age of 26, my first year of pastoral ministry included a temporary job of stacking bales of flax straw for several months. I was with a three man crew. The farmers and contract balers would bring their truck loads of bales to the site and throw them on the conveyor which took the bale to the top of the stack, where our three man crew would drag the bales to the right spot.
The stacks of hay that we made were no ordinary stacks. The stacks were 33 feet long and wide, and went up 50 feet. Another 5 feet of bales on top went up a slope, like a roof. There were 3 stacks placed in a row, which became a 100 foot long, 33 foot wide, and 55 foot high house. We put up 8 of these huge houses of hay.
Much later, sometimes years later a traveling factory would move in, and process all of that flax straw to remove and save the fiber, which would be used for baby diapers, hospital linens, Bible paper, and cigarette paper.
As the season progressed, more and more farmers and contractors showed up. Our crew was also supposed to grow to a crew of eight, but no one else really wanted that kind of job, so the same crew of three handled the much heavier work load. Fortunately the work load had increased gradually, so we became accustomed to it. My two much younger friends were Norwegian, so they didn't complain. I didn't know any better.
At the end of the season there was one field left that had bales to be picked up by hand. I volunteered and wondered why my 2 stalwart friends didn't offer to go also.
The field was one mile long. There were 36 rows of bales to be picked up. The company truck driver had to stack the bales on the truck. The boss had to man one side, and I manned the other side, while the buyer, who was in his 80's, was the driver. I was the only volunteer, and I soon found out why.
The truck had a 55 foot long low boy flat bed trailer behind an old semi diesel tractor. The lowest the idle would go took the truck down the field at no less than 4 mph. My boss and I each had three rows of bales spread across 30 feet to pick up on either side with a pitch fork and jog to the moving flatbed and throw it to the man who was stacking the trailer. During my first mile of running and stacking, I was angry. But I was surprised that on the second mile I was not tired and barely winded. 4 months of continuous stacking had molded me into the best physical condition I have ever been in in my entire life.
We put 8 layers on the truck by running 5 times up and down the one mile long field, when we realized that we still had one more mile to go. We now had to throw the bales up to the top of the now full trailer, about 8 feet high. That was on the last day of the job.
The next day Lynne and I headed for the annual preacher's retreat, my very first ever as a pastor.
One of traditions during the retreat was the flag football game between the preachers from North Dakota and the preachers of South Dakota. I was in great physical condition. I had all my previously mentioned abilities, 6 foot 5, 37 inch long arms, quick reflexes, and tremendous pain thresh hold, but I was no longer thin. I was a mean lean 240 pounds. Mom was not there to tell me no.
I guarded the quarter back. I ran over anyone that got close. When they ran in to get the quarter back, I would move in and up, and 200 pound men would fly off me, landing up to 6 feet away. I was bigger, stronger, and as fast as any one there. I had no sense of pain while I was playing. I had the time of my life.
When the last whistle blew, and the game was over, and the adrenaline pain killer was gone, I couldn't walk off the field. It was 6 weeks before I could walk without a limp. I went to 3 more retreats in the Dakotas, but I never played in the flag football game again.
Now that I'm much older, I still feel that pain, sometimes severely, from just that ONE game. Now I thank my mother almost daily in my prayers for not letting me play football.
Thanks, Mom. #rmdo
At the age of 26, my first year of pastoral ministry included a temporary job of stacking bales of flax straw for several months. I was with a three man crew. The farmers and contract balers would bring their truck loads of bales to the site and throw them on the conveyor which took the bale to the top of the stack, where our three man crew would drag the bales to the right spot.
The stacks of hay that we made were no ordinary stacks. The stacks were 33 feet long and wide, and went up 50 feet. Another 5 feet of bales on top went up a slope, like a roof. There were 3 stacks placed in a row, which became a 100 foot long, 33 foot wide, and 55 foot high house. We put up 8 of these huge houses of hay.
Much later, sometimes years later a traveling factory would move in, and process all of that flax straw to remove and save the fiber, which would be used for baby diapers, hospital linens, Bible paper, and cigarette paper.
As the season progressed, more and more farmers and contractors showed up. Our crew was also supposed to grow to a crew of eight, but no one else really wanted that kind of job, so the same crew of three handled the much heavier work load. Fortunately the work load had increased gradually, so we became accustomed to it. My two much younger friends were Norwegian, so they didn't complain. I didn't know any better.
At the end of the season there was one field left that had bales to be picked up by hand. I volunteered and wondered why my 2 stalwart friends didn't offer to go also.
The field was one mile long. There were 36 rows of bales to be picked up. The company truck driver had to stack the bales on the truck. The boss had to man one side, and I manned the other side, while the buyer, who was in his 80's, was the driver. I was the only volunteer, and I soon found out why.
The truck had a 55 foot long low boy flat bed trailer behind an old semi diesel tractor. The lowest the idle would go took the truck down the field at no less than 4 mph. My boss and I each had three rows of bales spread across 30 feet to pick up on either side with a pitch fork and jog to the moving flatbed and throw it to the man who was stacking the trailer. During my first mile of running and stacking, I was angry. But I was surprised that on the second mile I was not tired and barely winded. 4 months of continuous stacking had molded me into the best physical condition I have ever been in in my entire life.
We put 8 layers on the truck by running 5 times up and down the one mile long field, when we realized that we still had one more mile to go. We now had to throw the bales up to the top of the now full trailer, about 8 feet high. That was on the last day of the job.
The next day Lynne and I headed for the annual preacher's retreat, my very first ever as a pastor.
One of traditions during the retreat was the flag football game between the preachers from North Dakota and the preachers of South Dakota. I was in great physical condition. I had all my previously mentioned abilities, 6 foot 5, 37 inch long arms, quick reflexes, and tremendous pain thresh hold, but I was no longer thin. I was a mean lean 240 pounds. Mom was not there to tell me no.
I guarded the quarter back. I ran over anyone that got close. When they ran in to get the quarter back, I would move in and up, and 200 pound men would fly off me, landing up to 6 feet away. I was bigger, stronger, and as fast as any one there. I had no sense of pain while I was playing. I had the time of my life.
When the last whistle blew, and the game was over, and the adrenaline pain killer was gone, I couldn't walk off the field. It was 6 weeks before I could walk without a limp. I went to 3 more retreats in the Dakotas, but I never played in the flag football game again.
Now that I'm much older, I still feel that pain, sometimes severely, from just that ONE game. Now I thank my mother almost daily in my prayers for not letting me play football.
Thanks, Mom. #rmdo
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