It started raining about three o'clock.
Just like Papa Ron said it would.
I was neck deep in relating to Northern California churches. We believe that this uniquely holy place should be found by word of mouth rather than social media craze. We have a page. We are not anti social media. We are anti phony. We are anti hype. We are anti unnecessary flashing lights and pseudo glory. We are pro movement of holiness. We believe God changes hearts in the wind. He touches in the quiet peace. He comforts in the rain. He encourages in the beauty. He lifts with the wings of eagles and hawks. He warms through the firepits and the hearth. He fills in the meals with others.
And He loves through Papa Ron.
I set my computer and phone to the side to watch the drops prick the pond. It was soothing for a moment, but a sudden lightening bolt reminder shot through my mind. Papa Ron had instructed me to protect some of the discarded wood from the rain. I hunted up my rubber boots. Left outside, they still had sawdust in the toe. I shook them out and pulled on a warm jacket over a sweatshirt with a protect-the-greying-red-hair hood. I pulled it up as I descended the back steps and headed for the barn.
The ATV and small trailer backed out without turning, which Papa Ron's lovely wife Deborah would heartily proclaim a miracle. I would be offended at that assertion if it were not absolutely true. It seems to me, over the last days of hauling wood, that dyslexia extends into arms that are trying to turn a trailer. I invariably turn the thing the wrong way, though I know exactly how to do it.
But again, I digress.
I loaded up the wood as instructed and pulled the little trailer back in the garage. I will move it to the area with the rest of the wood when the rain stops. Papa Ron would agree, and give me that fabulous, grey bearded nod that says I am doing the wise thing.
I shook off the stuff as I headed back up the steps to the giant kitchen. Thinking wisely, I shed the boots and shook the jacket again before I went in the door. I put more of the precious wood on the fire and smiled to myself. Papa Ron had not asked me if I needed to cut wood. He just made the announcement and showed up. Without any angst or bullying, he made it clear that it would rain in a couple days and we must do the wood NOW.
Deborah was in tow, dressed in her wood hauling best. She loves to do wood. The woman
was downright joyous. Now, again, that might be an offending act in another world. Deborah, however, strings joy like popcorn and dons it allover everyone in her vicinity. She is like the best infection one could ever dream up. Sort of like hearing the doctor tell you the only cure for your stomach ailment is candy. She got me laughing as we worked and I found that I was, as always when I am with them, well...happy.
The whole two days, I had been quite obedient. I never asked Papa Ron why or thought I should not participate. I never felt like complaining or doing something else. In fact, I did not want to be anywhere but where I was. Life was happening in the cutting and stacking of wood and I wanted to be in on it.
What Life?
Papa Ron. That's what life.
I am 57 years old. I have met hundreds of men, and done so on 4 of the seven continents, I have watched men who claim to be men who live and are alive in that way that everyone admires. In all my many years I have met only two who are genuinely who they say they are. More importantly, who are who God says they are and whose actions, words and heart prove it. Everyone else caved in to sin and selfishness when life got hard.
The first man was a counselor. His name was Doc Potter and I adored him. He went to be with Jesus about three years ago.
The second is Papa Ron.
The man is just exactly who he says he is. He is also who I see him as. He is honest. He is trustworthy. He is self sacrificing~~he spent two days wielding a chainsaw so The Vinedresser's House would remain warm all winter. He is 76 years old and never complained about his decision to make me warm. I know his arms had to vibrate after he was done. Still, he simply worked until it was time to quit and he felt like the need for wood was pretty much covered.
When we were done he examined our stacking work and, full of grace and mercy, he made no comment about how crooked my pile of wood is. He only gave me that nod that makes me know, I am ok, and I don't have to do everything exactly right for him to approve of me.
That is a rare quality indeed. The Bible calls that love. True, unadulterated Love. A love that accepts imperfections and continues to treat as though worth has no dents in it. Papa Ron is the best Papa I have ever known. He loves.
He is also true and a truth teller. Papa Ron does not hesitate to tell me what he thinks or believes. He does not mold his truth around my emotions or the possibility that I will balk. He knows I may talk back. He lets me and is patient as he says what needs said. I find myself learning every stinking time, and, in the end, I quiet and accept.
Many people, like me, have lived their whole lives without a Papa Ron. It leaves a gaping hole that longs to know what it feels like to have the heart know it is ok even when it is not ok. We have spent a lifetime not knowing that we are not a problem, even when we have a problem. The men of the world like Papa Ron fill in the gap and teach us that.
God intended for all men to be like Papa Ron. However, most men have never met a Papa Ron so how can they do what they have never seen?
Now, here is the best news ever. Papa Ron works with The Vinedresser's House. He is brilliant and he can take any man (or woman, as I am proof) and show him what is behind his determination to be who he is. He can teach where he learned it and how to emulate it.**
Come. I will take you to him.
** Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ. I praise you for remembering me in everything and for holding to the traditions just as I passed them on to you. ~~ I Corinthians 11:1-2
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