My thoughts moved in rapid fire as I stood in front of the gas stove display model, complete with its manufactured logs to resemble a wood fire, its shiny brass door and two-tiered top that features warming and cooking surfaces. It was such a warm day I had a difficult time focusing on the fact that in the very near future I will feel deep-down damp and perpetually chilled. I’ll long for a warm, attractive source of heat in my family room where I can draw up a chair and settle down to read and sip tea.

So much has changed! I thought as I stood beside my husband, who agreed we needed to re-evaluate our bottom floor home-heating plan. Back in 1990, when we were idealistic, young and in some ways downright naive, the idea of owning a wood stove seemed — well–romantic. At that time we were recent immigrants from the sunshine state — the same one that now has a porn actress, a former child TV actor, and the highest paid action-adventure star in history all running for governor. Even though we had been homeowners, I have little memory of even turning on the central heating. When presented with the necessity in Washington state, we gave a mental image of warmth and beauty greater prominence than good sense.

At that time we purchased a wood stove because building fires had always been fun and we liked the way the heat felt. My reference was camping. Matt’s was Boy Scouting. Why not add to the Pacific Northwest feel to our country home? We were all for brand-new experiences and were 13 years younger. I was not employed outside our home and most of life’s activities centered on our five acres because our kids were babies. There were trees to clear and firewood gathering provided some good exercise.

Because we are a long-suffering couple, I do not think we even gave voice to our private frustrations for the first eight years. But after a time those things that come with heating with a wood stove began to annoy us both. I did not like the constant layer of fine dust and the added source of pollution was hard on our middle child who coughed her way through the winter. I needed to vacuum almost daily to keep on top of the dirt, bugs and bark that dropped off the logs. Even the sleeping yellow jackets that began flying when they warmed up and awoke from their beds on the logs pestered us.

“It’s cheap and I really don’t mind the exercise!” my husband would say with a smile each summer and early fall as he gathered wood. But I knew better. Whenever we learned of a source of wood he would drop what has was doing and spring into lumberjack mode. It was a labor-intensive activity. Lubricate and sharpen the chain on the saw. Drop the trees and load them into the truck. Haul each load home and unload onto a picnic table where I held the logs as Matt cut them into workable lengths. Because I was hopelessly unable to split logs he managed the maul and I tossed the splits into a wheelbarrow. Each load was moved to the woodpile, carefully stacked, then covered. Come winter, the dried wood was moved closer to the house, restacked, then carried into the house and burned.

This summer we asked ourselves two important questions. First, Have we adequately budgeted for a replacement? And second (the most important and difficult question): What could we be doing if freed from the immense burden of gathering and cutting, stacking and hauling, burning and cleaning? Rephrased, What does God want us to do with this gift of time if all we have to do this winter to stay warm is flip a switch? What projects or dreams must we now tackle once the wood-gathering excuse is removed?

There is not a one of us alive who can say we live roadblock free. The truth is this: “I can’t possibly do that!” really means, “I’m scared and unsure so I’ll not move on that project at all!” God moves in continual motion through history — in all places throughout the universe — and when prodded some of us are still grumbling and gathering wood when God might be asking us to stop, reorder our uses of time and flip a propane switch, instead. This interaction with God is exciting and scary and awesome. It’s also our topic for the next couple of weeks and what I’ll intensely ponder during the next few days as I consider how I can discern God’s will as I face my first wood-free fall in the Pacific Northwest.

Freeland writer Joan Bay K lope’s e-mail address is jbklope@hotmail.com