I Hate Lawn Mowers

Last week, during prayer time at my weekly men’s group meeting, I mentioned my next door neighbor’s daughter who underwent a quadruple heart bypass this past Monday.

After days and days of some scary complications,she finally seems to be on the road to recovery.

After getting home from work last Friday evening, I decided to cut my grass. My plan was to get all my work done so that I could enjoy the rest of the weekend.

I finished mowing my front yard and was resting for a few moments before moving on to the back yard when I noticed that my neighbors grass also needed cutting. I hadn't seen my neighbors in several weeks as they kept a nonstop vigil at the hospital. It occurred to me that the last thing they need to be worrying about is grass. These are good folk and have been great neighbors for many years.

I believe that these sort of thoughts are the way God speaks to us when He wants us to do something. My neighbors yard  is fairly small and I recently got my riding mower running again, so I readily said “yes” and headed next door to make it happen.

I made two laps across their yard when my mower suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. The engine ran fine but it stopped all forward movement...(reminds me of my sons)

I got off the mower and quickly determined that something had happened to the rear drive and it appeared that it wasn’t going to be fixed any time soon. (If ever)

My original intention was to help. But now my neighbors yard looked like your head when you get a bad haircut. At this point I had to do something, lest my neighbors think “what kind of idiot does that?”

Fortunately, I also have a push mower!

 A few weeks ago I was “bush hogging” with it when I hit a root and the blade came off and went sailing off into the woods like a ninja star. I pulled the rope and it started easily and everything else looked okay, so I put it in the shed. Seems it would live to ride another day.

I stopped Friday at lunch and bought a new blade and a blade screw.

So I grabbed a socket set and got the new blade and screw out of the car and headed out back for the push mower. I figured I’d zip the new blade on there and then I could finish my neighbor’s yard. I turned the mower on its side… only to discover that the blade screw was broke off inside the blade shaft.

"GOSH!", I exclaimed with a hint of disappointment in my voice.

To make a long story short, after an hour and a half and a yard full of drills, bits, center punches, hammers, and a magnet I grabbed off the refrigerator (I don't know why), I finally got the broken screw out of the main shaft.

I put the new blade on and pulled the rope and she fired up like a brand new mower. I engaged the self-propelled drive and took off for the neighbor’s yard.

I had barely taken 3 steps when I heard the loudest clap of thunder I’ve ever heard in my life. Instantly, it began to rain.

Please understand that I’m not talking some light drizzle or a sprinkle…I’m talking about the kind of rain that makes frogs run for cover. If I had only known this was coming, I wouldn't have sold my boat and trolling motor.

I ended up mowing my neighbors yard in a cyclone but, never the less, I finally got their grass cut.

When God put it on my heart to help out my neighbors, I must admit, I felt pretty good about myself. I sincerely wanted to do something to help them and their yard seemed like my opportunity to easily do one of those “Jesus things”...

But when I said “yes”, it’s now clear that I did not completely understand the cost of the mission.

You see, I heard “Hey dude, while you’re at it, it would be mighty nice of you if you rode over next door and cut Vernon’s grass.”

But while I was saying “yes”, I didn’t hear God when He said 

“Oh by the way…I want you to do it with your broken push mower… in the middle of one of my awesome thunderstorms. WATCH OUT FOR THAT LIGHTNING BOLT!...just kidding...."

Forty Five minutes later, I started picking up the wet tools, and 3 gas cans while i tromped around wearing my wet shoes, all while trying to keep my 50 pound wet shorts somewhere close to a waist level that would not  violate any county or state indecency ordinances.

Right before I went inside, I figured it best if I rolled my riding mower around to the back yard. Just for giggles, I started the engine and climbed on board.

I put the mower in gear and it took off like the cat that lives across the street when I let Maynard out of the house. In fact, I cut the back yard Saturday with it without a single issue.

Go figure that…

Luke 14:25-35 
The Cost of Being a Disciple

25 A large crowd was following Jesus. He turned around and said to them, 26 "If you want to be my disciple, you must hate everyone else by comparison—your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even your own life. Otherwise, you cannot be my disciple. 27And f you do not carry your own cross and follow me, you cannot be my disciple.

I reckon those folks listening to Jesus knew what it meant to carry their own cross. When Rome sentenced someone to die, they executed them outside of the city gates. You were forced to carry your cross to the place where you would be killed. This represented submission to Rome and warned everybody else that they had better submit too.

I think Jesus was trying to teach the crowds to think through their enthusiasm for him. He encouraged those who are superficial to either go deeper or to turn back. Seems that following Christ requires total submission to Him

28 “But don’t begin until you count the cost. For who would begin construction of a building without first calculating the cost to see if there is enough money to finish it? 29 Otherwise, you might complete only the foundation before running out of money, and then everyone would laugh at you. 30 They would say, ‘There’s the person who started that building and couldn’t afford to finish it!’

When a builder doesn't count the cost or estimates it inaccurately, a project may be left half completed. Will my life be only half built and then abandoned because I did not count the cost of my commitment to Jesus? What are those costs?

Hmm...Following Christ does not mean a trouble-free life. It does not mean my lawn mower will start should I again decide to take it on the mission field.

31 “Or what king would go to war against another king without first sitting down with his counselors to discuss whether his army of 10,000 could defeat the 20,000 soldiers marching against him? 32 And if he can’t, he will send a delegation to discuss terms of peace while the enemy is still far away. 33 So you cannot become my disciple without giving up everything you own.


I hate lawnmowers. 

As some of my friends know, I have often said that lawn mowers are the single greatest threat to my testimony.

And I hate them...

I always have and I always will. 

But not near as bad as I HATE weed eaters.

My weed eater is somewhere in the woods behind my house. It’s been there since that day two years ago when I pulled the starter rope one too many times…

So I’m really glad things are looking up for the neighbor girl. 

Trimming weeds with scissors is not my idea of fun.

He Saw Another Mountain

One of the things about life in your mid-fifties is that you tend to rethink a lot of things. Things that were once important to me don't matter very much to me these days.

I remember a time when come every spring, my sole purpose in life was to make grass grow.

I was determined to push the limits of the amount of Ammonia Nitrate I could safely pour on my yard without exploding the fiberglass Igloo that my dog lived in.

My secondary goal was to obtain a perfect soil pH level for southern grasses.

But these days, I continually look for legal ways to stunt growth of all plant life in my yard. My enduring hope is that through my extensive research, I will be able to cross cultivate a type of low maintenance "super weed" that grows just enough to help keep down the mud.

In the meanwhile, I get through each week by fantasizing that I’m going to look out the window and find that some nice young man is outside mowing my grass.

Each night, I have a reoccurring dream of the day when I can finally afford enough concrete to pave my yard.

In my dream, on that final glorious day when the last square foot of concrete is poured, I take my finger and write the words “It is finished” in the wet concrete. It will serve as a memorial for all of eternity of the last day that I ever pulled the rope on a lawn mower. Afterwards, I load my lawn mower on to the back of my pickup truck and drive it to the Clayton County Landfill. I say a quick “goodbye” and try my best to appear sad.  But as I drive away, I smirk as I take a quick glance at my lawn mower for the last time through the rear view mirror.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…………..If dreams only came true….

It’s not just that I hate cutting grass…I despise lawnmowers. In fact, I HATE their greasy guts.

I've said this before as I say it now; 

Lawnmowers are the single greatest threat to my testimony.

But if you like yard work and a nice lawn, I’m glad for you.

No….I’ll go past “glad” and say that I’m DELIGHTED!

You see, I enjoy the oxygen you help create. In fact, I’m chemically addicted to oxygen. And your passion for grass helps offset the harmful carbon emissions of the power generating plants that are essential to running the air conditioner that I like to stand in front of while I watch you mow your grass. So we are not enemies! We are partners in life, despite your obvious physiological issues.

I've also spent quite a few hours researching another issue that negatively impacts the quality of my life after age 50.

I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was on the afternoon that I sat down in front of my computer, went to Google, and with nervous anticipation, I typed a one sentence question whose words had the potential to change my life forever.

“HOW DOES ONE STERILIZE A SWEET GUM TREE?”

BAM!!!!!       It can actually be done!

But…at a price of $250 - $350 every 3 or 4 months. Regretfully, I learned that you can’t just have a tree’s tubes tied and then spend the rest of your life enjoying the shade.

I could buy a chain saw but…chain saws are a lot like lawn mowers, only different. While chain saws are useful for cutting off hands and noses, lawn mowers are more suitable for toe removal. I don’t think a chain saw is a good solution for me…

So for now, I’ll have to settle for being extremely careful when I walk out to the car or the mailbox. When it gets really bad, I’ll invest the 5 or 6 days it usually takes to get the lawn mower running and then I'll use it to grind up as many of those nasty little balls as I can.

If the plans I made as a young man had worked, I’d be retired by now. But so it is, it seems that I’m going to be working for the foreseeable future and likely past the point where I still have a clue as to what I am doing, or remember that I went to work, or how to get home.

But I think I'll be okay as long as there is air conditioning at my job.

Recently, I read an article by a financial planner titled:

“The Downhill Stretch: Preparing for Retirement”.

In this article it is suggested that I change the focus of my financial investment from earning maximum returns and growing capital to that of preserving the funds that I have already accumulated.

First, let me say that some of this somewhat makes sense…

So, I took the “Geyser Springs” water bottle I found behind the Walmart that contains the bulk of my life savings and moved it from the floor beside the bedroom dresser to an inconspicuous place in our closet, behind the clothes that I’m going to wear when I lose weight. Except for dusty, my savings may not grow much, but at least it will be safe until I need it.

I don’t really worry about money.

It’s been said that money is the root of all evil. I’m not entirely sure about that but I do find an uncanny resemblance between the faces on money and crackheads.

The one exception to that is the image on the front side of a quarter. "George Washington" looks more like a side profile of the Quaker Oats guy, minus the hat.

The other day, one of my younger coworkers referred to me as “experienced”. A few minutes later he called me “seasoned”.

In response, I used some of my “experience” and we had a chat about life. I first explained the impact that “seasoned” wood could have on the human skull. Then we talked further for a bit about “experience”.

“Experience” is a word that always means something different than it did five minutes ago.

For example, until today, I had never eaten the worst double cheeseburger that I've ever tasted.

If you ever accused me of being a salesman I might go ape.

But if I were in marketing, I would name this particular double cheese burger something clever…something similar to…oh say…maybe the “MacHurl”.

Perhaps in a few weeks, after I've siphoned some gas out of the truck for my lawn mower (not that I really expect it to run) or licked the inside of a  wet work boot…I'll eventually get that taste out of my mouth.

It’s likely that my “experience” will lead me to be more cautious the next time I indulge in a this type of culinary experience. Even so, it’s entirely possible that I will go where no man has gone before and eat another“MacHurl”. 

I'm even optimistic that it could be an entirely different experience.

(DISCLAIMER:) I still vow that I will never eat another sandwich bearing the name MacRib or any combination meal designated “Number 2”)

My point is that, “seasoned” and “experience”… are teachers who have taught me well.You might say that they are also my tools.

But they are not unchanging, nor are they the final word. And "seasoned" and "experience" don’t retire and move to the beach.

I’m reminded of a song we sang in Boy Scouts at the end of a long day of rigorous activities, such as chopping up logs the size of popsicle sticks with a double bladed axe. (The kind serial killers normally use)

The song, though really simple, is quite good and has been enjoyed by thousands, if not millions, of children during their booger eating years.

The first verse goes like this:

The bear went over the mountain,

The bear went over the mountain,

The bear went over the mountain

and what do you think he saw?

The second verse IS NOT:

From there, everything else was downhill,

From there, everything else was downhill...

No, It's...

HE SAW ANOTHER MOUNTAIN!

You may find it strange that I thought about church when I started writing this post.

When we have worked hard in Kingdom service for many years, we can find ourselves in a place where we may believe that our service to God should move from high yielding years to preservation mode.

So, we step back and surround ourselves with only the things that feel comfortable to us and spend our time cherishing and ministering to the relationships we have built over the years through our ministry.

Before you know it, if we go outside at all, we proceed with extreme caution, less we slip on a Sweet Gum Ball and bust our butts.

But isn't the general idea  for “seasoned” and "experienced" believers to take our blessings from God and all the love that has been shown to us and continue to make new relationships that mirror what we mirror?

Jesus died on a cross because I helped put Him there.

Then He was buried…and then He got up.

I got up with Him.

So I’m not running out of time. And I’m still receiving maximum returns on the RIGHT Investments. Yesterday and today is not a predictor of tomorrow… 

and it also appears that I’m not quite done with grass or Sweet Gum Balls either…

HE SAW ANOTHER MOUNTAIN!