In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground… (Genesis 3:19)

There is something physically and psychologically refreshing about working up a sweat.

For the past seven years, I’ve held what some derisively refer to as “desk jobs.” I’ve been trapped in an office, sucking re-circulated air spewed forth from a climate-control system while basking in the dim glow of artificial light. The most physically strenuous task is walking across the office to refill the coffee mug.

My forefathers would have laughed me to scorn.

A couple weeks ago, my grandmother called and asked me to pay her a visit. My grandparents have a large yard in a small country town, and their property was in need of some TLC. Grandpa had both hips replaced a few years back and no longer is up for the challenge.

So I headed south to rediscover the joys of real work.

My first duty was helping Dad cut down the sugar maple that a recent storm dropped on my grandparent’s garage. With a neighbor’s help, we took the tree down with minimal damage to the garage roof. Late that afternoon, I found myself scooping grime from my grandparent’s gutters. Those gutters hadn’t been touched in so long they had begun doubling as tree planters.

That evening, feeling bone-tired, I stumbled to the dinner table, where, lo and behold, I discovered, not one, but two! ribeyes on my plate. I can’t even describe how delicious they were. I ate till I nearly burst, then headed off for a shower and a quiet evening with a book. That night I slept like a bear in hibernation.

Early the next morning I rolled out of bed and pulled up a chair to a table set with biscuits and gravy. I could almost hear the angels sing! If only every day could start like that.

Then I headed outdoors to pay my tab in sweat.

The heat index soared past 100 degrees as I trimmed the hedge, raked the clippings and transported them to the town brush pile for burning. (That is my kind of town!) Sweat poured off my face, and I couldn’t gulp water fast enough. The sun scorched my skin and made my head throb, but I pushed on and, with help from a friend, finished the job.

When it was over, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction that you just don’t get from pounding on a keyboard.

I’m thankful I can make a living with my mind, but, every once in a while, a man feels the need to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. Food tastes a little sweeter when it’s seasoned with sweat. You sleep deeper when you’re exhausted from a hard day’s work.

As technology has advanced, our nation has moved away from strenuous physical labor. Americans still work hard, but mostly we’re pushing pencils instead of plows. As we’ve moved off the farm and into the office, our waistlines have undergone an expansion.

Besides the physical benefits, hard labor also brings a sense of fulfillment that can’t be found inside a cubicle. After eight hours of staring at a blinking computer screen, I’ve often felt as though I accomplished absolutely nothing of importance. But I’ve seldom felt that way after mowing the yard or tackling some other outdoor project.

That’s why, from time to time, a man needs to get off the couch and go work up a sweat. Don’t pay the neighbor kid to mow the lawn while you sit in front of the tube sipping sweet tea and watching Dirty Jobs. Get outside and get dirty yourself. Get some grease under your fingernails. Break a sweat, and maybe your knuckles too. You’ll go home with a few bruises, but it’ll build your self-esteem.

And if you live in an apartment or condominium where someone else does the dirty work, find some old lady who needs a hand. I’ll bet she can keep you busy for a few days.

Who knows, she might even serve up some steaks when you’re done.