The Cement Queen

by Renae Brumbaugh

Superman is trying to kill me. Actually, I volunteered for the job that nearly killed me. Superman had nothing to do with it. But I’d rather blame him. You see, it’s summertime. And in the summer, the S-man works as a contractor, building things, installing things, and doing whatever skilled contractor jobs anyone’s willing to pay him to do. Last week, he redesigned my mom’s porches and re-landscaped her yard. He added curvy sidewalks, a new driveway, and a new retaining wall. It looks beautiful! But in order to accomplish this feat in a little over a week, he needed help. He hired the grandkids to dig out dirt, mix and pour cement, and haul stones. And I’m happy to say, the grandkids earned their pay and then some. The nearly-killed-me part came when my brother and his family took two of the workers on vacation, before the job was finished. Who cares if they’d planned this trip for weeks? We needed their help to haul concrete up and down the hill, from the cement mixer to the side of the house where a new staircase was being added. So really, I should blame my brother for leaving us shorthanded. I volunteered to help. Now, to Superman’s credit, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink. He just said, “Okay. I could use you.” Just for future reference, if I ever volunteer to haul cement for one of your home projects, I’m just kidding. That is not a job I would ever, ever willingly volunteer for. But I wasn’t about to back down. Superman believed I could do the job, and I was determined to prove my worth. On the first haul, I nearly tipped over the wheelbarrow. The S-man saved me and to his credit, told me I didn’t have to do it if it was too heavy. It’s no secret that my arms aren’t very strong. But my legs are pretty tough. I soon figured out that while I had a hard time pushing the wheelbarrow, I had no problem pulling it. So I went backwards, uphill, pulling a wheelbarrow filled with wet cement. Over and over. And over. How many times I backed up that hill, I’m not sure. I lost count somewhere in the third dozen. After more than an hour, I forgot to look over my shoulder and fell down, tipping the wet cement into the grass. The wheelbarrow was on top of me. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but everyone else was working so hard they didn’t notice. “Help!” I yelled. I felt a little like an upside-down turtle. Soon Superman and his assistant, Jordan pulled the wheelbarrow off me and helped me to my feet. “I’ll take it from here,” Sup told me. “Why don’t we trade jobs?” “Okay,” he agreed, and handed me his shovel. He’d been scooping the cement into the staircase form, crunching it down, making sure it was all settled and even. I’d secretly thought he had the easier job . . . Did I mention my arms aren’t very strong? An hour later, I longed for the uphill wheelbarrow. My shoulders burned. My back ached. And my inner Scarlett O’Hara fought to be released. I’d have given anything for a fan and a cool glass of lemonade right about then. But all good hard things come to an end, and eventually the staircase form was filled with cement, and I was honorably released from my duties. Boy, did I sleep well that night. Despite the notion that I have learned my lesson about volunteering for jobs I really don’t want to do, I’m glad I helped. I’m glad I can look at the now-breathtaking finished product and say, “I did that.” Well, part of it anyway. Such is the story for so many hard things in life. The burden feels too heavy. We fall down, only to get back up. Our shoulders and back ache, and we’d give anything to just collapse with a fan and a cool glass of lemonade. But if we keep going, keep pressing on, keep climbing that uphill climb, we’ll eventually feel a sense of victory and completion that only comes from perseverance and a whole lot of sweat. Then we can step back, wipe our brows, and look at the masterpiece that God’s created from our lives.

“Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,” Hebrews 12:1.