Labor

The last lazy days of summer come to a close as flags are raised and sweltering temps fluctuate. The first Labor Day in 1882 was kicked off by the Central Labor Union with a large New York City parade. Soon it became a national holiday with the goal of greater respect for the myriad of ways laborers continue to build our country, often without just compensation or recognition.

Well before American leaders established this time in our calendars and in our consciousness, labor of all kinds became fixed as a frequent Scriptural commentary on human reality. Laboring in birth, toiling in the fields to grow food, gathering wood for fires, and so many other examples of labor that have become natural, despite their risks and challenges. And then there are the extremes, when labor is exploited or doesn’t result in enough sustenance, thereby causing shifts in location, physically, spiritually, emotionally. There’s the labor we choose, and the labor we don’t choose, and all of it, we pray, through collective effort, evolving towards a more ethical, balanced, and wholesome society.

Before chemo and the birthing of twins, I often think back to an experience of extreme physical labor I chose to pursue as a high school student. It’s been a helpful metaphor for me these days. I realize it’s a privilege that this was an option at all, and that it isn’t an example of back breaking work to help provide for my family.

The summer after my junior year of high school, I went on a Pacific Northwest outdoor adventure, culminating in a two-day climb of Mt.Rainier, just outside of Seattle. We prepared all summer for the climb and had to go through boot camp style training before the guides agreed to bring us on a rope team. The first day we made our way up to base camp from Paradise, nestled on the slope of this glaciated wonder which stands 14,401 ft above sea level. From base camp, we woke up at midnight to climb 4,000 ft. during the coldest part of the night with the least amount of ice moment. With headlamps, crampons, an ice axe and a backpack with necessary gear, we made our way in rope teams. It was terrifying and breathtaking–literally, at times my breathing was so labored by the altitude I was ready to call it quits. I’m not sure I can make it, I said to one of the guides. “Well,” was the reply, “you can stay here in your sleeping bag, we will put a bright flag beside you, and get you on the way down several hours from now.” No thanks!

Looking back, more than anything, the rope team instilled courage in me to take each step of that climb. (And the multiple packs of M&Ms were essential as well!) Almost 30 years later, I am laboring through and climbing up some steep terrain with an incredible rope team of a devoted family circle, medical professionals, spiritual practitioners, and compassionate community members. I am learning anew what a blessing it is to hydrate with hope and love. Some days it’s hard to do so, and yet the rope is always there in my hands, with some person or some greater Presence reminding me I am not alone.

May the One who Binds our Wounds, the One who Strengthens our Steps, help us find the courage and the strength to make our way with true grace and abundant gratitude.