Our Division of Labor

The last few months have been an ordeal, and I mean that in its most literal sense. Our word ordeal, despite appearances, is not from Latin or Greek origins. An ordeal in our teutonic forefathers' tongue meant something like "that which is dealt out" (assumably by the gods). When we today complain of something being an "ordeal," we are, without recognizing it, comparing our trials to the more brutal juridical proceedings of our German ancestors, who if accused of a crime, in order to be proven innocent, were required to walk blindfolded and barefoot between red-hot plowshares. Escaping this ordeal uninjured would result in the dismissal of the accusation, for naturally the gods had unanimously decreed the defendant's innocence with such divine protection.

Ordeals such as these persisted into the Christian era. Peter Bartholomew, who gained notoriety for discovering a shard of the holy lance in Antioch on the First Crusade, braved an ordeal voluntarily to prove the veracity of his divine visitations--apparently the Savior Himself visited him regularly--by walking through a bonfire and emerging unscathed. So he claimed at least--he died, presumably from his injuries a week later. Now, after my own ordeal, let's hope I don't suffer a similar fate.

Of course, my ordeal was not of the medieval sort, but much like Peter Bartholomew, I undertook mine voluntarily. After living the good life in the oil-rich emirate of Qatar, we decided to return to the impoverished US to try our hand at higher education. Without health insurance or full-time employment, we attempted to pursue my dreams by applying for doctoral programs in history (an ordeal in and of itself) while having a fifth child, homeschooling our children, exploring other avenues of employment with the US goverment, teaching a full load of English and Turkish classes, and improving my credentials as an English teacher with a second MA in TESOL. I say we because clearly no individual could hope to attempt all these things at once.

You see, I did not survive this ordeal but we did. My wife accompanied me through the flames, and lest we stumbled and succumbed to the unbearable heat, we had the steady hands of experienced grandmothers to pull us through. Ultimately, we became artful in our division of labor. Grandmom McCollum never tires of shopping and holding little fuspot babies. Grandma Dryg can entertain the rambunctious bears for hours with wholesome stories and intricate railroad construction. My beloved wife does what no other can: educate the three silliest boys in the western United States. Finally, I do what I do best: I educate myself while somehow managing to make enough money for us to eat.

At this time of year when we express our gratitude and remember that one individual who came to do what we couldn't do for ouselves, I would like to express my thanks for those who did what I could not. I have a heavenly Savior in Jesus, but I also have an earthly one in my wife. She has believed in me when I could not and has endured all my whimsical endeavors, no matter the cost. Her light awakens me long before the sun light peaks over the mountains and lifts me out of bed when all my strength has vanished. Thank you, Bunsy.