An Empty Jar

Our home in Minnesota had a front yard that was long and perfect for family time. In the evening of the summer months, I would start a campfire at the edge of our woods. While we waited for the fire to die down to roast marshmallows, we would race as a family across the yard to the fence and back to the road. My oldest son, Jacob, was always able to defeat his brother and two sisters but he always finished second to me. One summer evening after his first year in high school we lined up on the road and my wife yelled, “Ready, Set, Go!” and we all raced toward the fence. When we made the turn, I was a couple of steps ahead of Jacob. But by the time we made it back to the road, Jacob had passed by me and won the race.?

This last week I traveled to Oregon to help my father with some DIY projects. My wife and I stayed in the area for 10 days and during this time I drove through the Cascades to my father’s home near Powell Butte.?

My father was diagnosed several years ago with a rare form of ALS called Multiple Symptoms Atrophy (MSA). Over the last nine months, the disease has progressed and now his only means of getting around is in a wheelchair.??

Last month a local contractor had come out to my father’s home and provided a bid for a ramp so my father could get from his house to his workshop without the assistance of his wife. The bid for just one ramp was $4,000. I told my father I would take the week and come up and build the ramp for him.?

So when my wife and landed in Portland, I rented a Dodge Ram four-wheel drive pickup knowing that I would be making several trips to Home Depot. Also, the Cascades were snow packed and the forecast was for near-blizzard conditions near the Santiam Junction.?

I made it safely through the pass, although my knuckles were entirely white, and arrived at my father’s home late in the morning. He wasted no time getting his jacket on and joining me out on the front porch. He explained what he wanted me to build and asked me to get the measuring tape from the drawer in the kitchen so we could make sure we calculated the pitch of the ramp correctly. My father has a Masters in both Mathematics and Secondary Education, so angles and instructions come easily for him.?

I watched him as he sat in his wheelchair only able to help me with the design of his new ramp. He also wanted to show me what he needed me to do in the outbuilding where he had built his workshop. I slowly worked the wheelchair down the steps and pushed it over to the rented pickup. He insisted on not being helped and tried several times to lift himself up into the front seat. Eventually, he admitted he needed my help and I came in from the driver's side of the truck and deadlifted him up into the passenger seat and put his wheelchair in the back of the truck.?

It was a short drive to the outbuilding and my father was eager to get down by himself and wait for me to retrieve his wheelchair. When I opened the garage door, I was taken aback by the many different ways my father could get hurt. He pointed over to a doorway in the back of the building where he had built his workshop. I pushed him back to the entrance and he directed me to the light switch for both the main building and the workshop.??

Once the lights were on, he showed me his supply of wood that I could use to build the ramps. Most of the wood was scraps from some other projects. I asked him some additional questions regarding the entrance to his workshop, and then I shut off the lights and pushed my father back outside and struggled again to deadlift him into the pickup.?

He told me his hands were cold and asked if I could bring him back to the house. My father shared with me that he had tried in January to get to his workshop by himself and had fallen into the snow and frozen his hands. When we were back in the house, he sat in front of the fireplace running his hands together.

I had the opportunity to go with my father to his doctor’s appointment before I left Powell Butte. I asked the doctor about my father’s hands and the doctor explained to me and my father the sensation he was feeling in his hands was not frostbite but was the result of the disease. It was settling into his hands and it would not be long before he would lose his ability to feed himself.??

The second morning my father and I drove together to Home Depot. Getting him into the pickup was not any easier than the day before. Once in the store, I pushed him through the aisles looking for the supplies we would need for the ramp. I narrowed down the needed material and realized that I was pushing my father around and not a cart. One of the Home Depot associates grabbed a cart for me and I started loading the material into the cart.?

I looked at the cart and my father and tried to wrap my mind around how do I push both the cart and the wheelchair. My father could tell I was stumped and motioned me to get the cart and put it in front of him. He then grabbed the cart and said, “Push me, and I will push the cart.” We had created a train that I was driving from the rear. After several attempts, I finally managed to maneuver the cart to the cashier and we paid for the material and headed home.??

I worked on the three decks over the next couple of days. I spent most of the last day in the workshop tearing out the door jam and part of my father’s workshop so he could make his way in with his wheelchair. Before I left, I picked up the counter, swept the floors and turned off the lights.?

At dinner on the night before I left, I turned to my father and asked, “Now that I have built you the ramps and you can get out to your workshop by yourself, what are you going to do when you get there?” I probably should have asked him this question when I first arrived, but I wanted my father to see me as the ‘Good Son’.?

He put down his oversized fork, and just sat there quietly. He then turned to me and said, “You know the empty jar sitting on the counter in the workshop?” I responded, “Yes, I put the bolts that were scattered everywhere back in the jar and set it by the others.” He paused again and then said to me, “Every day I go out to the workshop, and I dump out that jar and I pick up each of the bolts, and I count them.”??

I leaned back in my chair and I could hardly breathe. My father had run schools, built buildings, and farmed over a thousand acres of farmland and now he looked forward to counting bolts that he had dumped out onto the counter in his workshop each day.?

At that moment, I could feel my son Jacob run by me in the front yard. I realized the circle of life that I was experiencing for myself. I had run by my father and his only ask of me was to build him a ramp so he could accomplish something as simple as putting bolts into an empty jar.?

I also realized that happiness and purpose can be found in the simple things each day. We do not have to build companies or constantly be on stage receiving an award. At some point in life, we need to find happiness in the simple things we do every day.?

If we cannot find this happiness, life will eventually catch up with us. It is then that we will discover that this circle called life was in place long before we arrived and this circle will continue to spin long after we cease to exist.?

My father has taught me one final lesson, to enjoy the moment I am in and not be concerned that I am not taking over the world. It is perfectly ok to find pleasure in putting bolts into an empty jar.?

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

2 Corinthians 4:7 NIV