Tough Day at Work? Try This
Work takes it all out of me some days. On such days, by the time I get home, I just want to sit and do or say nothing. I'm exhausted and empty.
Funny thing is, whenever that happens, I think back and wonder what the big deal was. It's not like I was chopping wood to build a log cabin or anything. Maybe it was the pressure of a deadline, or some project that required a lot of sustained attention and concentration. At times like that, I usually think I'm a wimp and think about how easy my work really is: mostly sitting at a desk, working with a laptop, talking to people...really, this makes me feel exhausted? What a wimp! Shut up and offer it up!
I don't know if you ever feel this way, but here's something to remind us what really tough work is done by a really tough guy. I found this in the Catholic publication, The Wanderer, which published a snippet from the obituary of a Catholic priest who served for a time as a missionary out West in the 19th century. He was on a 500 mile journey on horseback to say Mass for a small Catholic community when this happened.
“ On the third of November he was caught in a blizzard on the open prairie, exposed to all the fury of the storm. He dismounted, removed the saddle from his weary horse, and made a hollow in the snow in which he placed it to serve as a bed. Then covering himself in his buffalo skin he went to sleep. He remained in that position throughout the following day. On the third day, when he attempted to arise, he found that his feet were frozen. He dragged himself toward his horse, which was lying on the ground a short distance away, only to learn that he had succumbed to the intense cold. To assuage the pangs of hunger he cut some flesh from the body of his dead horse and ate it with relish. Then covering himself with his robe he recommended himself to God and his Guardian Angel and went to sleep. On the fifth day the storm abated. His feeble cries for help were heard by a couple of travelers who happened to pass that way; and he was taken to the home of Joseph Rolette in Pembina. His frozen limbs soon began to mortify, and in order to save his life he was removed to St. Boniface, Manitoba., where, on December 3, his right limb was amputated just below the knee. He was too weak to stand a similar operation on the left foot — so weak, indeed, that preparations were made for his death. The Sisters began to prepare tallow candles for the wake: The tallow took fire and soon the Archbishop’s house, in which the patient lay, was a mass of flames which in a short time communicated themselves to the adjoining Cathedral. Fr. Goiffon was rescued with difficulty from the burning building, which, together with the Cathedral, was reduced to ashes. . . .
“ To the surprise of all he began to recover and on January 6, 1861, his left foot was amputated. On June 7 he returned to St. Joseph and resumed his missionary labors. By the aid of a stout stick and a wooden leg which he whittled from the branch of a tree, he continued to move about in the fulfillment of his pastoral duties until the following September, when Bishop Grace paid a visit to the Red River district and on his return to St. Paul brought Fr. Goiffon with him.”
And Fr. Goiffon served as a parish priest almost till the end of his long life.
On top of everything he went through, the guy whittled his own wooden leg from a tree branch! In any case, how guys like this did what they did, I just can't say. Faith? Hope? Love? Yeah, maybe that had something to do with it. But after reading this, I wonder if I ever in my life have had a really tough day at work. Requiescat in Pace, Fr Goiffon.
Funny thing is, whenever that happens, I think back and wonder what the big deal was. It's not like I was chopping wood to build a log cabin or anything. Maybe it was the pressure of a deadline, or some project that required a lot of sustained attention and concentration. At times like that, I usually think I'm a wimp and think about how easy my work really is: mostly sitting at a desk, working with a laptop, talking to people...really, this makes me feel exhausted? What a wimp! Shut up and offer it up!
I don't know if you ever feel this way, but here's something to remind us what really tough work is done by a really tough guy. I found this in the Catholic publication, The Wanderer, which published a snippet from the obituary of a Catholic priest who served for a time as a missionary out West in the 19th century. He was on a 500 mile journey on horseback to say Mass for a small Catholic community when this happened.
“ On the third of November he was caught in a blizzard on the open prairie, exposed to all the fury of the storm. He dismounted, removed the saddle from his weary horse, and made a hollow in the snow in which he placed it to serve as a bed. Then covering himself in his buffalo skin he went to sleep. He remained in that position throughout the following day. On the third day, when he attempted to arise, he found that his feet were frozen. He dragged himself toward his horse, which was lying on the ground a short distance away, only to learn that he had succumbed to the intense cold. To assuage the pangs of hunger he cut some flesh from the body of his dead horse and ate it with relish. Then covering himself with his robe he recommended himself to God and his Guardian Angel and went to sleep. On the fifth day the storm abated. His feeble cries for help were heard by a couple of travelers who happened to pass that way; and he was taken to the home of Joseph Rolette in Pembina. His frozen limbs soon began to mortify, and in order to save his life he was removed to St. Boniface, Manitoba., where, on December 3, his right limb was amputated just below the knee. He was too weak to stand a similar operation on the left foot — so weak, indeed, that preparations were made for his death. The Sisters began to prepare tallow candles for the wake: The tallow took fire and soon the Archbishop’s house, in which the patient lay, was a mass of flames which in a short time communicated themselves to the adjoining Cathedral. Fr. Goiffon was rescued with difficulty from the burning building, which, together with the Cathedral, was reduced to ashes. . . .
“ To the surprise of all he began to recover and on January 6, 1861, his left foot was amputated. On June 7 he returned to St. Joseph and resumed his missionary labors. By the aid of a stout stick and a wooden leg which he whittled from the branch of a tree, he continued to move about in the fulfillment of his pastoral duties until the following September, when Bishop Grace paid a visit to the Red River district and on his return to St. Paul brought Fr. Goiffon with him.”
And Fr. Goiffon served as a parish priest almost till the end of his long life.
On top of everything he went through, the guy whittled his own wooden leg from a tree branch! In any case, how guys like this did what they did, I just can't say. Faith? Hope? Love? Yeah, maybe that had something to do with it. But after reading this, I wonder if I ever in my life have had a really tough day at work. Requiescat in Pace, Fr Goiffon.
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