Last week, Larry and I went to Welfare Square to help put up applesauce at the cannery. Our job was to put lids on the jars as they came down the assembly line on a conveyor belt after having been filled with hot applesauce. The machine filled six jars at a time, sent them down the line, and filled another six a few seconds later. We got into a pretty good rhythm, the four of us lid-puter-oners. We sat two-and-two across the conveyor belt from each other. Larry, who was sitting next to me on my side, would push the first two bottles down a little ahead of the others, and my counterpart across the belt and I would cap those bottles. Then Larry and his counterpart would do the other four bottles, and if any slipped through or the lids didn't get on straight or something, we would be free down the line a bit to take care of the problem.

Most of the time it just hummed along. It was easy to settle into the rhythm of grab a lid, whirl it on, grab a lid, whirl it on. But every now and then something would come up. Maybe the lid was a little bent and wouldn't "whirl" without some extra encouragement. Maybe a bottle up the line from us got its lid on skewampus and had to be redone. Maybe my counterpart turned away for a couple of seconds and missed her bottle. Whatever it was, sometimes the process had to be adjusted. A few times, I even had to grab my assigned bottle of applesauce off the belt and replace it farther back so I could have more time with it. Sometimes the other workers would have to do extra bottles for me while I wrestled with a stubborn one; sometimes I needed to fill in for them. But by and large, we got all the bottles done except one that accidentally got tipped over. (By the way, cannery guy, when I asked for a rag to wipe that applesauce off so that it wouldn't keep dripping on me, I didn't really want you to just hose it off, trading one kind of dripping for another.)

It struck me afterward that my life is kind of like that assembly line. Things go along relatively free of complications for a while, and I get into a pretty good rhythm. Then, for whatever reason, I get a bottle that doesn't just sail through. A work assignment ends up taking more time than expected. A loved one experiences a tragedy. My health takes a dive. Something happens, and before I know it, bottles are clattering down the line past me and I am panicked about how to get back on track.

Thank goodness for fellow workers, who see my dilemma and step in to help until I can get my rhythm back. And thank goodness for a patient Heavenly Father who understands when it's time to stop the machine altogether for a few minutes while problems are being sorted out, but who then gently reminds me that there is still work to do and that I am capable of doing it. My life doesn't always go on like a well-oiled machine, but I hope at the end of it to see a goodly store of well-filled bottles, most of which arrived there by the aid of others and the grace of God.