Truth be told, I detest manual labor! It’s only been 15 years since my last real minimum-wage job working in a sweat shop making baseball caps, but I can still recall my disgust at having to toil there for a couple of years while saving money and planning out my dream to one day cycle atop the Great Wall of China as though it were yesterday.

And truth be told, I have worked harder turning my dreams into realities than at any regular job where you pick up a weekly paycheck and get the standard two weeks vacation time and all the benefits that go with slave labor...

But I’ve had more fun and experiences along the way.

Being the cliché East coast inner city ghetto boy, I made the choice to live in the country, therefore I must accept all that goes with the country life...being awaken by the neighbor’s rooster several acres away, or being interrupted by my other neighbor’s cattle that think my grass is better than what they have; mowing lawns or pruning fruit trees and trying not to kill what little I have.

After all these years, I know the standard procedure when it comes to the weeds... as the warm weather approaches sometime between April and May, I must begin to psyche myself up; telling myself that it really isn’t so bad as I view the area that needs to be cleared. That it’s my responsibility and the job needs to be done, else submit to the fear that during the dry, rainless Summer, a spark from a passing automobile or something else may cause a fire and quickly blaze through the dead, brown weeds and destroy everything I’ve worked thus far for. Sure, I could hire someone for a few hundred dollars and be done with it, but then I wouldn’t be getting the exercise I need, I tell myself.

As the time gets closer to actually doing the physical labor, I begin to unearth the monster machine of a weed eater from somewhere within the dark tomb of the garage-barn, along with the harness that will eventually be strapped to my body (there’s just no physical way you can hold the beast steady for any length of time and try to get the job done), as well as dust off the combo face mask and ear protectors.

After making sure there’s enough string, oil, fuel mixture, and the machine well serviced, it’s time to take a deep breath, sigh my indignation at the job at hand as I scan the field of boulders, trees, hills and other assorted obstacles and take the plunge.

Now, I have standards when doing this sort of job. For instance, I refuse to be out all day, trying to get as much done as possible. No, sir! I may have to rid these pesky weeds and their devilish fox tails, but I will not become a slave to them. I use a one-gallon glass jug for my fuel mix. Over the years, I have this chore down to a science. I know I can get four refills from this one-gallon glass jug into the weed eater, with each tank giving me about one hour time to clear a section of the field.

Therefore, I mentally work it out that when the jug is empty I will have spent four hours time that day clearing a section of weeds around my place. Doing a standard Monday thru Friday work week (I’m a slave to my past at times), I know it will take me two weeks time to get the job done.

What happened next is left to the unexplained or the miraculous...

On Tuesday, May 27^th, I began the day in the usual fashion... I grumbled about getting up early (I’m a night person and usually don’t arise until the crack of noon) while still the cool of the day, and once again, psyched myself up to face the dreaded weeds just outside my front door.

Okay, I said to myself. Get your four hours in and be done with it and then you can move on to your other projects.

That was the plan. It just didn’t work out that way.

In the beginning of the work, all went well. I’d fill the weed machine’s tank, watching the liquid in the one-gallon glass jug go down about 25% and proceed to the business at hand, stopping an hour or so later when I ran out of fuel in the machine to refill.

After awhile, I began to get hungry and thirsty. I looked over to where the jug lay nearby. It was only half empty (or half full depending on your point of view). I’ve only been at this for two hours, I thought? It feels longer.

I took a break, heading to the house to refuel myself. By the clock in the kitchen, I had been killing weeds for five hours. No way! That’s just not possible! Yet there was the proof by the time. I knew when I began, and now it was early afternoon. What’s going on here?

Returning to my task, I began to question what was happening. I wanted to know what was going on. Was the heat of the sun cooking my brain? Was I hallucinating?

This time when I went to refill the machine’s tank I took note and marked how much fuel was left in the glass jug. It was clearly visible. Half down.

I took note, watching myself pour the fuel into the tank until it topped off. When I set the glass jug down, the mixture in it was still at the half way mark.

That’s when the Biblical story of the loaves and fishes came to mind. And I cried out, "Lord, don’t do this to me! You know how much I detest this kind of work!"

There was no response. I continued to kill weeds.

Now, I know I could’ve stopped at anytime, but as you can probably tell by my lifestyle, I’m goal oriented. Once I begin a job, I simply must see it through to the end. And once I begin with a full gallon of fuel mixture, I don’t want to quit until the jug is empty.

More hours went by; the sun blazing overhead. I continued to work. The mixture in the jug stayed the same after every pour. I submitted. Okay Lord, I thought once more. Either I’m going to run out of string, or fuel or daylight, but I refuse to run out of energy.

And then I thought about that other Biblical story where the Lord held the sun in place for three days, so that Joshua could finish the battle at hand. What if... I quickly shook that dreaded image from my mind and continued on with my own battle against the weeds.

Still more hours went by. I was clearing an entire field of weeds and yet the glass jug still registered half full of fuel mixture. By now I was begging the Lord to empty the jug. This was so unfair!

And then hope! The sun was beginning to set behind the mountain. Soon darkness. I didn’t care if the cursed jug stayed full or empty. Within the next hour or so, I would be forced to quit. I was beginning to revive! I would win this particular race today!

On the next refill, the mixture in the jug went down. The fuel was actually past the mark set in the early afternoon. Thank You, Lord.

I had just enough time to clear out one more section of weeds before it became too dark to see what I was doing anymore. The weed beast’s belly emptied, and I filled it once more for the last time that day. It drank in the fuel in the jug down to the last drop.

What would normally take four hours actually multiplied to more than 10 hours of dirt grinding manual labor. In a day, I had cleared an entire area of weeds that would have taken me a week, and I still had a full tank of fuel in the machine, but at least I had an empty glass jug to refill once more.

I took the rest of the week off to attend to other business. Also, I just couldn’t go through two days in a row like this. These kinds of miracles are not something I want to look forward to.

On the other hand, if the Lord and I could just come to an understanding about having a jug or even a chest full of money that never depletes, that would certainly be a welcome blessing...