The story goes that my brother Jon was hauling gravel for the farm lanes on the Pitts farm.

It was one of those jobs that had to be done every summer to fill in the ruts and pot holes from the spring so the apples in the fall wouldn’t get bounced around.

There was a gravel pit on Town Line Road where Jon would go with an old flatbed dump truck and haul back loads of gravel.   He had made several trips already with the old truck when he pulled into the pit to get loaded again.   The loader operator started to dump his bucket into the back of the truck and as the truck slowly sank toward the ground under the weight of the gravel, there was a load pop and the truck jerked and twisted to one side.   The operator stopped dumping as he and Jon jumped out to see what had happened.   Looking under the truck they saw that the frame on one side hade buckled and cracked, and the springs on that side had broken.

I said it was an old truck.

The loader operator asked Jon if he wanted him to try scraping the gravel off to see if they could get the truck fixed.    Knowing how old the truck was and how bad the frame was, Jon gave a strange order.

“Go ahead and dump some more on”

The loader driver thought he was crazy.   But Jon explained, it’s already broke and there isn’t much that can be fixed and it’s only a short drive back to the farm.

Got to make the last load count.

And so, he did.  Loaded as much if not more gravel, then he had all day, slowly limped the old truck back to the farm where they had to use the bucket tractor to get it unloaded.  After that, the old truck was scrapped for parts and retired to a hedge row to be over grown by weeds and time.

I thought about that story as I was putting to much wood in the back of my little red pick-up truck.

I’d been home one Sunday after church when a post showed up on the local Facebook page.   A man had cut down a bunch of huge old maple trees and was wanting to get rid of the wood.

FREE FIRE WOOD.

I was out the door and down the road in a flash.

He had huge piles of maple logs of all shapes from at least 5 big old trees.   I had made 3 trips before anyone else got there.   On the fourth trip another family was there getting some wood for a bonfire, so I put a little extra on the old pick up.

And then on the fifth trip, there were 3 other pick-ups,  a car with a trailer and a minivan.   Yes a minivan, no trailer, just had the seats out and they were stacking wood in.

By now, there were not to many manageable size chunks of wood left and I knew what I had to do.

I started loading and stacking.   I jammed skinny branches in the side of the truck bed to make higher sides and piled more wood on.   The bed sagged toward the wheels but I kept stacking.  When the wood was even with the roof of the cab,  I decided she had enough.   Then I threw 3 more logs on.

As I pulled out on to the road, the bed scarped on the tires, and the shocks creaked and groaned, but I made it home with out braking anything and had a bunch of free wood for the following winter. A little while later the wood was all gone.

I’d made the last load count.

I thought about it later that night, when I realized my little truck wasn’t the only thing that had taken a beating that day.   My back ached,  my arms were sore and I couldn’t keep my eyes open.  

I wondered how I would respond when I was older and my body and mind didn’t bounce back.

Would I give up and sink into a chair and just pass the time till my time was passed.

Or would I make the last load count.

We all face the end differently and I’m not going to judge how anyone wants to spend their time.  

But I hope I show a bit of a stubborn streak and don’t go quietly in the night.

I don’t have to be like my dad and deny that I need to use a walker until I fall so many times I can’t get up, but I hope I have a little of that spirit, and use whatever I have well.

There was a lady in our church who had served in all types of programs, from music to kids programs for years.  As she got older, she couldn’t keep up with the kids.   As time went by, her eyes couldn’t see the music and her fingers couldn’t find the piano keys. 

It would be easy for her to say, ok, that’s it, I did my time.

But she was determined to make the last load count.

I was running a kids program at church and knew we needed help besides more people.  We needed someone to lift us up in prayer during the night.   I knew just who to ask.   I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her I needed her help with the program.

Before she said a word, her eyes screamed, I’m too old to work with kids.   I quickly explained what I needed her to do and she was grateful for the opportunity to serve.

Each week, while we were trying to keep up with dozens of kids, she was in her living room praying for us and each kid by name and we felt it.  

It was a blessing for us and her too 

I hope, when I’m old, I find something like that to do, when I’m to old to do anything else.

I hope someone asks me for advice or wisdom or prayers, when I’m an old man who can’t offer much else.

I hope I remember the lesson of an old farm truck and several tons of gravel.

I hope I make the last load count.