The Peak of Inspiration

In memory of a man, a road worker.  February 24, 1953 – January 28, 2022 

There may be a number of people who enjoy road construction, but that number is very small.  That doesn’t mean that there aren’t times and situations that we don’t think the roads need work.  Quite the opposite.  We frequently can find many instances where roads have been neglected and abused.  Lots of them are just worn out. 

But when construction, or in many cases, reconstruction, begins, it always seems to be the wrong place and the wrong time.  It always slows us down, tests our patience, and causes every inconvenience possible to our time and schedule.  And speaking of time, it takes a lot of it.  You would think, with technology being what it is, that there would, by now, be some serious advances in materials and processes for rebuilding our roads.  But it isn’t, maybe never will be, a quick process. 

Thinking about them now, I admire them.  Yes, it might be true that they aren’t necessarily there by choice.  Very likely circumstances and in some cases a bit of desperation has driven them to apply for a job.  There may be the rare case where someone is living out their passion and dream.  But the important thing is, they are doing it.  They showed up, stepped out of whatever thing brought them to the roadside, put on the reflective clothing mandated by the powers above them, and started another day.  Working the road.  They spent the day watching a thousand cars pass by, each one of them later than they were.  Each one slightly more impatient than before.  Each one thinking mostly of the inconvenience, and only a little about the investment in their future.

I also can’t help but think about how I feel after the work is complete.  After the last orange cone is picked up and packed away.  After the last white line and turn arrow are painted, and the road opens unobstructed before you.  I drive that fresh, black asphalt and try to imagine the bumps and potholes that used to exist.  I listen to the pleasant hum of my tires on the new surface, and I think, “this is really nice”.  I think that maybe all that time and money was worth it.  I also notice that the more time passes, the less I appreciate that new road.  I start to take the good road for granted.  I drive it without ever thinking of the cost, the sacrifice, the sweat and sunburn, the noise and heat that were endured by someone to make that road a reality.

I’m traveling a good road.  Better than I deserve.  And the quality of this road begs the question, why is it so good?  Good roads don’t just happen.  Fact is, left to themselves, roads become a mess.  Roads deteriorate.  They get so rough that, eventually, the ditch is smoother than the road, and becomes the preferred route.  But that isn’t how my road has been.  I’m on a road with a foundation.  I can feel it.  It’s solid.  It doesn’t give or flex or slip out from under me.  It carries the load.  And I do believe this road leads home. 

This question of how my road came to be what it is isn’t difficult to answer.  Tracks were left.  Both sides of the road.  Little indications that witness to the character of the man that worked this road.  And it was work.  Hot and exhausting, and most of the time, thankless.  Knowing that much of the work he was doing was unappreciated.  That the work he was doing was keeping me from going fast.  He surely knew he was testing my patience.  But he also knew the work he was doing was so absolutely necessary for my eventual happiness.  That the little inconvenience I suffered through was not to be compared with the benefit and quality of the road I would travel on for many years.  

Like all good humans, I have taken it for granted more often than not.  But, due to circumstances and the time of the year that we find ourselves, I have been thinking about that road worker again.  Come Saturday, he will have been gone a year.  Road work is hard on a man.  Sometimes it will require your life.  No, scratch that.  Done right, it will always cost everything.

It will take your best days and your worst nights.  It will stain your Pioneer caps with its sweat.  It will wear out your Redwing boots, one pair at time.  It will require you to strap your Crescent pliers on your worn out leather belt every day.  Every day shoulder your responsibility as father.  Read the Bible and then, obey.  Show up at the roadside, rain or shine, and do the things that so many others do not wish to do. 

Just work the road…

I Often Think of the Day (Working the Road)

I often think of the day, so swiftly passing away, The road to heaven seems hard to find;

So I am doing my best to reach that home of the blest, And make it easy for those behind.

The road to Heaven is straight and oh, so narrow the gate, around us trials of every kind;

I want to smooth out the snares that hinder, give them our prayers, and make it easy for those behind.

I’m trying daily to live for others, something to give, My brothers, groping in darkness, blind;

I want to hear them some day in glory, lovingly say:  You made it easy for those behind.

Chorus

Oh, yes, I’m working the road, working the road, helping the weak and blind; I want to smooth out the road that leads to Heaven’s abode, and make it easy for those behind.

Adger M. Pace