The God Sod Squad

I am publishing one of my favorite posts again - one reason is because it was an experience that touched me and another reason is because I'm still counting comments and I don't have a new post yet.

I hope you enjoy this story from July 6, 2006.


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Those of you who listen to Paul Harvey will relate to the concurrent events involving my post Green Door, the continuing saga of the trials of THE BACK YARD.

Now you’re going to hear … the rest of the story.

Our church pastor began his own project about the same time as we did this spring; He was enlarging his kitchen, bathroom, dining room, and adding a basement bedroom. Acting as his own contractor, he was doing a tremendous amount of the work himself. However, like all remodeling jobs, you can plan on plenty of things going awry. And a lot did. He could match us story for discouraging story with THE BACK YARD chronicle.

His narrative took a much more serious turn in early May when he fell uncharacteristically ill. He did not get well. Weeks were churning and the finishing work on his project slowed to a crawl as his health grew worse.

Church members stepped forward as best they could to take over presbytery responsibilities …. Friends found spare time to pound nails. He became too weak to direct the helpers, and his wife finally brought the house project to a halt. He needed to focus on healing.

When at last there was a diagnosis, it was not an easy one. Especially for a robust man who loves to push himself to the limits. These were not the limits he wanted to push. (There is no cure, but there is hope for remission.)

On Saturday afternoon, the pastor’s wife walked outside the unfinished construction. She knew she wasn’t capable of working with the siding, or wallboard, or flooring. What they had managed to complete was livable and they would cope.

“I can work on this pile of dirt,” she thought, and grabbed a shovel and a wheelbarrow.

She told us later that she could see her husband watching from the window –angry because he was too weak to help her. In a very short time, she realized that working the torn up ground was a grueling job. Sapped and wearied by the responsibilities and worries of the past weeks, she wasn’t sure she had the strength left to shovel dirt.

A few tears came to her eyes as she was overwhelmed by the magnitude, not only of the incomplete project, but of her ailing husband.

“Dear God,” she spoke aloud, knowing He was standing close by. “Can’t you just send me a couple of strong men to help me level this dirt?”

In the meantime, please bear in mind that our sod had arrived on Friday. When the sun had set and I dragged the weary hubby into the house, there was a soft knock on our door. It was the people from six blocks over who had received the next sod delivery from the same big semi truck that day.

“You don’t know us,” the woman began, “but, we’re wondering if you would like our left over sod. Our son-in-law measured it and just can’t figure out how we ended up with a pallet plus left over!”

The hubby smiled and said, “Thanks, but it looks like we’re going to have extra too.”

Nevertheless, we agreed to keep in touch through the next day or so in case either of us found a home for the sod. (Neither of us wanted to pay the exorbitant fee at the landfill!)

Saturday afternoon proved the hubby was right. He shook his head as he looked at 1 ½ pallets and wondered, “How could I have ordered an extra 750 square feet of sod?”

Apparently, one of his headshakes brought the Pastors torn up yard to mind and he relayed an idea to me. As a result, I called the lovely couple with their excess sod and told them that it may not go to waste after all. “We just might have a lawn for it.”

The hubby continued to cut, edge, and roll ours while I made a call to Connie, whose name just popped into my head.

“Does your husband know anyone who might be able to help deliver some sod to the pastor’s house?” I inquired. “We have a pickup truck, we just need someone to load it up and deliver it.” I added that the hubby would try to get over there on Monday to measure, level and lay it.

Connie said she’d check with Ron and call me back.

She didn’t call back. Instead, five minutes later, her husband, their brawny son in law, and muscular Andrew walked into our back yard ready to rumble. Things were moving at the speed of Light.

The Pastors wife eyes were still moist from her tearful prayer when a pickup truck drove up and the doors slammed. There they were! Not two, but three strong men. They had more then shovels; they had grass. They were prepared not only to deliver it, but to install it. And just to add one more amazing point, I had rescued a short roll from the hubby’s discard pile at the last minute. With that addition, they covered the final inches of the pastors torn up yard.

You can rest assured that men do not always measure things correctly.

God does.

Now you know the rest of the story.