I’m asking because the young man who took care of our lawn over the summer doesn’t always call ahead. Sometimes you can hear the sound of the lawnmower from his machine while he mows and trims.

We are thankful that a few years ago, when our neighbor Rachel learned that Keith could no longer take care of our yard, she talked to a father and son who were mowing one of her neighbors’ yards. It turned out that the father was trying to get his 13-year-old son to mow the lawn.

Gavin started out mowing our lawn. He was shy at the time. Now Gavin is an experienced lawn mower during the summer months and we are so glad he is still mowing lawns. It has been a joy to watch him grow into a confident young man.

My dad used to mow our lawn when I was little. When my older sister could use a lawnmower – that was all we had when I was growing up – my dad taught her how to mow.

I knew that this task would be hers until I was old enough. On the one hand, I didn’t really want to take it on. On the other hand, mowing the lawn would mean that I had grown enough for Dad to trust me with this task.

In Wyoming, we didn’t have much of a lawn, and much of what Dad considered a lawn was converted to a garden. The ground was hard as rock until moisture hit it – and that was rare. As soon as it rained, the ground turned to mud that sucked like quicksand.

When we moved to northern Kansas, I was strong enough for my age. The parsonage was a working farm run by the farmers of the parish. To my great joy, this meant we could keep animals. One farmer lent us a dairy cow.

I was able to witness the fulfillment of my dream of owning a horse. My younger brother had a pony. We children raised calves and sold them when they were mature. With the money we earned, we opened our own bank accounts. This was how our parents started teaching us about money.

While Paul and I attended a village school, Karin attended high school in Oberlin. Because she was involved in theater and other extracurricular activities, she often stayed with a friend in town. In Kansas, we had a large yard and unfenced areas that also needed mowing. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Dad showed me how to mow.

When it was my turn, I wasn’t feeling so good. Fearing something terrible was about to happen, I tried to hide the pain that made jumping off the horse a torture. Dad asked me to mow and watched as I tried to force the push mower through the grass.

He saw more than I wanted to show him. Mom noticed things and even my teacher shared his concerns with my parents.

Dad took me to a doctor in town. There I learned I had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis and there began a long journey of pain and limitations and coming to terms with a new reality in my life. Dad also bought a lawn mower to cut the grass and weeds on the parsonage farm.

My father loved gardening and, as he was called from one pastorate to another, transformed the places we lived into welcoming spaces with beautifully mowed grass, gardens and well-tended trees.

I never mowed. It took 10 years before I could walk again. Mom and Dad never gave up on me. They encouraged me to do all I could do and be all I could be. Most of all, they shared their faith with me and assured me that Jesus loved me and had a plan and purpose for my life, no matter what.

There’s nothing wrong with work. Mowing lawns gets you outside and gets you exercise, and for some people it’s a way to make money. Today, when I hear lawnmowers from the park, neighbors, or Gavin on our lawn, it brings me back, helps me remember, and makes me thankful that God doesn’t let me go even when times are tough. In my case, it meant that it was never my turn to mow.