Tuesday, July 03, 2007

I'm just not worthy.

I wonder sometimes why I’m so fascinated by the nature of faith. Or maybe not. I really know why I stand gape-jawed before the example of people like Jimmy or Miz Kayreen. It’s their ability to stand strong in the face of hardship.

Maybe I think by being next to them a little of that rock solid resolve will rub off on me. That unflinching knowledge that things will always be alright because God is so firmly on their side. They put their trust in something so intangible, so completely ethereal and yet remain confident that all will turn out in the end.

I guess I just want a bit of that sort of peace. Their hardships are monumental compared to mine. I feel ashamed and guilty for being so undone by this whole thing with the pump.

My water now smells strongly of burnt PVC. The fumes are so strong they would probably put my friend Erin, who has MCSD, in the hospital.

The pump guy was here most of the morning. He put a new pump and sunk it an additional 60 feet down into the 400 foot well. The good news is that I had that extra 60 feet to go and that he doesn’t think, as he originally did, that I needed a completely new well drilled. The bad news is the 1000 dollar bill I keep looking at with unbelieving eyes.

But this is nothing compared to outliving your child. Or being one of the last of your kind and watching the demise of your religion like Jimmy. Or waiting for death with the ghost of your husband, twenty years gone, like Mizz Kayreen. Each of these people will tell you how blessed they are.

I drove the jeep up to Hall’s Top where luckily, that spring had not dried up, this morning. I stood there weeping softly as the water slowly filled up my two 6 gallon tanks and two gallon jugs. I wonder to myself how many women with real cause to weep stood at this spring or some other in these hills. Women who did this every single day of their lives and carried that water on bowed shoulders swinging buckets on yokes made for people, not oxen.

So I’m running my taps in the house on full trying to get the dreadful stench from my pipes and water heater. I still have the water I collected from the spring for drinking and hopefully the smell will be gone enough soon to water the livestock. They have a half a bucket left up there, but the geese are starting to get cranky.

So, I feel a little foolish for feeling like I’m forever scrambling to meet the lowest tier of my pyramid of needs. I think water is down there somewhere. I’m just not worthy of women who came before me here.

Someday I’ll tell you about Libby. She and her husband scraped together a meager existence cutting firewood. He would cut it in the deep woods and then pile it on a pallet. Then Libby would harness herself in and drag it up the mountain. She never had enough to eat and the two of them didn’t seem to have the same sort of survival skills others seemed to have here. Skills that enabled them to put together a life in these hills from practically nothing. They were probably a lot like most of us.

But, I’m feeling a bit pitiful. And embarrassed for feeling so.

I wish I had the sort of faith that let me take this all in stride.

I’m such a wimp.

5 Comments:

  1. Jbeeky said...
    I am so sorry to hear about that. There is something so rattling when something assuming as water gets taken away. I hope your water improves and so do your financial circumstances. Damn.
    Sista Cala said...
    The woman at the well in John chapter 4, asked Jesus to give her of the water that He spoke of. He did, and she was never the same.

    We all have times in our life when seems like daylight will never come. The important thing to remember is to keep our focus on the Light of Jesus Christ.

    You are in my prayers today.
    Elizabeth said...
    I've been lurking for awhile, but I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your current straits. We're getting ready to have a well drilled on our property in the next year, and it makes me break out in a cold sweat when I think we could end up paying several thousand dollars for a dry hole. *Urp*.
    Erica said...
    Rosie, I don't know half the troubles that you, Betty-Jo, Jimmy, or Miz Kayreen know, as my troubles in life have mostly come in proportion to what I am able to handle, even though sometimes I feel like I can't, even after an extended period of healing time.

    But a trial and error thing has emerged in that I, and many I know, have been through so many trials, and yet, in the end, we come out on top, that even were we not taught about the ways of God, in a parochial setting, just by means of the successful track record we have, of never succumbing, we know that there has got to be Something out there, on our side, looking out for us, managing things, if you will.

    Shit happens, people die, friendships and marriages are torn asunder, wars are waged, and yet, each day, the human race continues to thrive, in one way or another, in spite of its obsessions with silly fads, and electronic doo-dads.

    Life is a beautiful thing, Rosie. Just so long as we wake up, breathing, every morning, I think that, in and of itself, is a miracle of God.
    kazari_lu said...
    There's something primeval about hauling water, I think. It's been women's work in so many cultures for so long. Next time you're standing at that spring, maybe think of all the women who had to visit there, to get water to drink and cook and wash. Their strength is your strength too. As long as there is food to cook and stuff to wash, women will find the water to do it.
    it doesn't really matter how you feel - bravery and courage is about what you do, when you are feeling like a wimp. And you are still there, living your life, despite all the hardships. and your nasty goat-hating neighbour will get his come-uppance. and you will get water. and the pump bill will get paid.
    in the mean-time you might haul water - but that's ok. Because you can.
    good luck rosie

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