I
hired
a
plumber
to
help
me
restore
an
old
farmhouse,
and
after
he
had
just
finished
a
rough
first
day
on
the
job:
a
flat
tire
made
him
lose
an
hour
of
work,
his
electric
drill
quit
and
his
ancient
one
ton
truck
refused
to
start.
While
I
drove
him
home,
he
sat
in
stony
silence.
On
arriving,
he
invited
me
in
to
meet
his
family.
As
we
walked
toward
the
front
door,
he
paused
briefly
at
a
small
tree,
touching
the
tips
of
the
branches
with
both
hands.
When
opening
the
door
he
underwent
an
amazing
transformation.
His
tanned
face
was
wreathed
in
smiles
and
he
hugged
his
two
small
children
and
gave
his
wife
a
kiss.
Afterward
he
walked
me
to
the
car.
We
passed
the
tree
and
my
curiosity
got
the
better
of
me.
I
asked
him
about
what
I
had
seen
him
do
earlier.
"Oh,
that's
my
trouble
tree,"
he
replied.
"I
know
I
can't
help
having
troubles
on
the
job,
but
one
thing's
for
sure,
those
troubles
don't
belong
in
the
house
with
my
wife
and
the
children.
So
I
just
hang
them
up
on
the
tree
every
night
when
I
come
home
and
ask
God
to
take
care
of
them.
Then
in
the
morning
I
pick
them
up
again."
"Funny
thing
is,"
he
smiled,
"when
I
come
out
in
the
morning
to
pick
'em
up,
there
aren't
nearly
as
many
as
I
remember
hanging
up
the
night
before."
As
you
listen
to
Roll
That
Burden
On
Me,
look
at
the
leaves
falling.
That
is
where
our
burdens
should
be
falling
at
the
altar.