While having lunch with a former student recently, I was asked, “How far is it from your house to your office?” I replied, perhaps in culturally trained Atlanta-talk, “It’s only about an hour, but I am going against traffic, so the traffic is seldom an issue.” I quickly added, “And for the last few years, I haven’t had to be in my office every day – I can work from home when I don’t have class.”
But whenever I get asked that question, I almost always think about the example my dad set while I was growing up. From my earliest memories, my dad worked for Westvaco, a paper company with facilities in Charleston, South Carolina, about an hour away from the farm in Russellville, where generations of our family have lived. It was a good hour’s drive from home to work. He started out working on paper machines, but by the time he retired, he had advanced up the company hierarchy and was a well-respected foreman. I still remember going to his retirement dinner, where more than a few executives at Westvaco with degrees in chemical engineering and similar areas said, in their remarks, “I learned more about paper making from Mr. Huxford than all my education combined.”
But . . . back to the drive. Back in his earlier years of working for Westvaco, cars often weren’t air conditioned. Sometimes a group of men would ride together; sometimes he drove by himself. But it was always an hour there and an hour back. Some of those years he worked swing shifts, weekly rotating work times from 8-4, 4-12, and 12-8. Because of the complexities of restarting the paper making process, the only two official holidays at Westvaco were Labor Day and Christmas Day. That meant, among other things, sometimes his off days were not on the weekends, but in the middle of the week – constantly rotating in the five on/two off scheduling mix.
As though that wasn’t enough to get my attention, he was also a farmer, who not only had his own farm to take care of, but also was a huge help to his parents and their farm. That meant, in the Lowcountry climate of South Carolina, from early spring planting in March to harvest as late as November, he never just came home, took a shower, and sat around watching television all evening.
Just in case you might wonder what he did in his spare time, he was very engaged in our little Christian Church in Russellville. He taught Sunday School for years; served as an elder, alongside his older brother, from a very early age; and was a good husband to my mother and a good dad to me and my siblings.
When I’m asked about my drive to work and start thinking about my dad’s godly example, I refuse to complain. I don’t recall a single time I heard him complain, either about the drive to work or all the work he did seemingly all the time.
My work schedule is very predictable. I don’t change office times on a regular basis. My vehicle is very comfortable, and most importantly – air conditioned! Even on the most brutal Georgia afternoon, it cools down nicely and quickly. My drive is about 60 miles, 53 of which are on a well-cared-for interstate highway. If there is going to be a traffic issue, my GPS most often notifies me in time to exit the interstate and drive through some beautiful west Georgia farmland. If I’m hungry or thirsty, there are dozens of places I could stop.
When I get home, there are a variety of options for me. I have a well-equipped office in my home where I’m surrounded by lots of books and resources. I have a nice television with local channels and some streaming services. I have a pantry and refrigerator filled with food. I can cook my own dinner, order take out, go out to eat, eat next door with my younger daughter and her husband, or stop before getting home and eat with my older daughter and her husband. I can change clothes and go out and work in my garden – which is what I mostly did on this past Labor Day. But I don’t spend every daylight moment working on the farm until dark.
By the way, some of my favorite childhood memories are from the early evening picnics my mother made. We would all pile in the car and go have dinner with my Dad. He didn’t ignore his family, and my mother didn’t seem to resent his work schedule.
One of the stories my Dad loved to tell in his later years – he would repeat it often in the last few years, when his short-term memory was failing – went like this: “Some of the older men in our church would tell me, ‘Quit working so hard. You are going to kill yourself and leave Ellen and the kids without you.’” Then he would get a sly smile on his face and say, “I’m 84 and none of them lived as long as I did.” And he added for a little emphasis, “Hard work never killed anyone.”
I try not to be a grumbler. Part of that is I hope I have that spirit from my father’s DNA and example. Part of it is because God doesn’t seem to care for grumblers. Have you ever noticed, in 1 Corinthians 10, that among the reasons Paul cites as to why so many Israelites were struck down in the wilderness, despite having been baptized in the sea and having drunk the spiritual drink and eaten spiritual food, were idolatry, sexual immorality, putting God to the test, and complaining?
If your job is like my job, it isn’t perfect. It likely requires you to do some things you would prefer not to do. I hope, as is true for me, there are parts of your job that allow you to be fruitful and fulfilled. I think I learned a long time ago – no doubt from my Dad’s example – that getting to do the “fruitful and fulfilling” parts of my job make doing the stuff I’m not so fond of doing really no big deal.
Maybe our culture, beginning with those of us who want to follow Jesus, would be much more fruitful and fulfilling if we simply decided, “I won’t be a complainer.”
Wye Huxford 