Chainsaw parables, chapter two

It was mid-afternoon as we first weaved our way around and over fallen trees and broken limbs behind the house.

The chains saws were cranked (at least those that still worked) and we went to work. It seemed an impossible job, especially with the amount of time we had left. The testosterone was gone, replaced by a holy stubbornness that is a trademark of Lester Memorial UMC workgroups. Cutting and hauling, cutting and hauling. The stack of tree trunks and limbs in the middle of yard began to take shape. It got bigger and bigger as our limbs grew more weary.

About that time the owner of the place came up beside me, as he had done with most of the team while we were there, letting us know what he needed done if we had time.

"Try to stack that pile from the other side, if you can," he said quietly. "Don't let it come no farther this way, if you can," he paused and looked to the right of the now mountainous pile of green. "Don't want you to get it over there close to the basketball goal. Don't want it burning up when we burn that big ol' pile of brush." He waved his arm farther over to the right.

One of the trees that was left standing had a weathered basketball goal attached to it, a foot or two higher than regulation it appeared, or maybe my legs were just so tired it seemed that much higher. I smiled and nodded, and went back to hauling limbs, spreading the word about not moving the pile any farther toward the basketball goal and its treesupport.

I have to admit my pace had slowed a bit, allowing me a bit more time to take a look around. Underneath the branches you could see a couple of old rubber basketballs, one flat and the other just a little low on air. Then in a pile of branches about twenty feet away from the goal was a an old street light still attached to a fallen trunk of a tree.

I bet there had been some serious ball played there. After the work of the day was done and on into the night.

We didn't get to see that place before it was torn to pieces.

I thought it was a little funny when he asked me to keep the pile away from the tree with the old weathered basketball goal. I thought it was a little crazy considering all the damage around us.

But I was stupid.

Like everywhere that hellish wind set down, nothing looked the same. Everything was changed. Years of life just vanished.

Except for here. There was an old basketball goal nailed up on a tree with a serious homecourt advantage.

We weren't clearing ground.

We were uncovering a little bit of home. And that may be the most important thing some of us do.

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