The Language of Falling Trees

Some of the things that seemed vitally important to me last Thursday fell off a cliff on Friday.  I didn't mourn them.  In fact, I looked down and saw their pitiful white legs sticking up and wondered why I wasted my time on them.  

Maybe someday the entire cliff will collapse and bury the clamoring horde of worthless distractions in my life for good, and I will be rid of their useless frittering.  Maybe.  But for now, at least I can see some of them for the imposters they were and guard against their return.

We humans like to moan and groan about how tired, and pain-wracked, and busy, and stressed, and beset by problems we are.  

Well, guess what.  That's life.   

The alternative is death, but most of us don't really want to think about that because despite our complaining, we are pretty content down here.  

We have a handful of people whom we love.  We have a handful of people who love us back.  We have comfortable routines and things we are looking forward to, and distractions and entertainments, and it is easy to think that the river will just run on.

But sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes you get news that burns away the drivel and dross of everyday life and makes you start counting your moments like diamonds because suddenly you see the end and you can no longer live within your comfortable illusion of earthly immortality.

This isn't all bad. 


A lingering loss defines the boundaries of all that matters.  It strips away what is meaningless and frivolous and worthless, sharpens the vision, and refines the gold.  It gives time to settle accounts and say the things that matter to the people you love.  

Serious illness is still hard and horrible because as eternal beings we were never meant for death, but it does contain a severe mercy.  

But sometimes you don't get a warning.  

It just ends. 

Lest anyone begin conjecturing about what sort of  diagnosis I may have received last week, I will insert a picture.  

Here is what happened on Friday.

 

This is the creek where my boys spend 67% of every day.  This is the spot in the creek where the fattest, most tempting frogs live.  

This is the EXACT spot where three of my boys were playing mere hours before this 5,000 pound willow tree collapsed onto it.  

There is no reason for the mercy which spared them.  I possess no special merit which prevents tragedy from striking my family.  

I could be planning three funerals this week.  By the grace of God I am not doing that, but somewhere on this planet, there is a mother just like me who is.  I don't deserve this mercy any more than she "deserves" the horror she is living.

Now, this is not going to be a treatise on why God allows bad things to happen to good people.  I wouldn't presume to guess, and anyway the premise of that discussion is fundamentally flawed.  

My real amazement is saved for why He lets good things happen to bad people since I have lived in that camp for a remarkably large portion of my life.  As have you.

So we had a scare, and I marched the boys out and we all talked about the brevity of life and how we ought to live in light of the gift we were given.  

Then, on Sunday we drove by this scene at our small, local airport.

But it was worse than this.  There was a woman under a tree with her head thrown back in a scream.  There were flashing lights and a black bag by the plane and people standing with shocked faces by the road.  

It was a beautiful, sunny day.  The pilot had come to the field with the joys and hopes common to all men.  He had plans for this morning...and for the next one and the next after that. 

And instead he stepped into eternity.  As my three boys might have done two days earlier.

As they will do one day.

As all of us will do one day.


The image of the fallen tree and the fallen plane just two days apart was a somber gift.  It has made me stop mid-rush and take my children's faces in my hands and study every freckle and marvel at the gentle curve of their cheeks and the way the wind moves their hair.  

It has made me pause and listen longer, and smile more readily.  It has brought me to prayer on their behalf more fervently.  It has filled my heart with gratitude and my mouth with praise.  

And it has reminded me that I don't own myself--not my time, not my breath, not a single beat of my heart.  

Nor do I own the people I love.  They are here, as I am, to work and live and love and (hopefully) follow God for as long as He deems right.  

And no scheme of man can give us one second more than that.

I am going to frame the picture of that fallen willow because it speaks to me of both mercy and death, time and eternity.  After the old tree collapsed, I went out and stood beside it.  It's massive trunk lay across the water like the belly of a dragon, and its gnarled branches--some half buried in the dirt from the force of the impact--roped out along the ground like long, gray fingers.  And two words seemed to drift up like mist and settle over my heart.  

Live Ready.

Of all the ways to live--strong, boldly, loud, large, smart, peacefully, humbly, confidently, sustainably, in luxury, or on less--it is the most important.  


Where will you open your eyes when you leave this place?

You are an exquisite, immortal, beloved creation.  You have eternity set in your heart.  "God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end."  Ecclesiastes 3:11

You were made to enjoy God forever.  "Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure, because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead, nor will you let your faithful one see decay.  You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand."  Psalm 16:9-11

Even after your sin had separated you from fellowship with a perfect, sinless God, He made a way to restore you to Himself.  "You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.  Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."  Romans 5:6-8

Do you know Him?

Trust Him?

Believe Him?

Love Him? 

Live Ready. 

*******************

James 4:13-15

  Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.”    

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow!

What is your life? 

You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.   

Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”

Psalm 103:8-18

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,

slow to anger, abounding in love.

He will not always accuse,

nor will he harbor his anger forever;

he does not treat us as our sins deserve

or repay us according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,

so great is his love for those who fear him;

as far as the east is from the west,

so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

As a father has compassion on his children,

so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

for he knows how we are formed,

he remembers that we are dust.

The life of mortals is like grass,

they flourish like a flower of the field;

the wind blows over it and it is gone,

and its place remembers it no more.

But from everlasting to everlasting

the Lord’s love is with those who fear him,

and his righteousness with their children’s children—

with those who keep his covenant

and remember to obey his precepts.

  

Irrepressible, Irreplaceable, Irresistible Isaiah

I took the Isaiah (age 9) to Great Clips for a haircut the other day--an occasion which he thoroughly enjoys since it involves a motorized chair, a mirror (in which to make faces), a captive audience (the stylist), and of course, food (a lollipop) at the end.  I settled in with a magazine by the window as he settled in to ride the chair.  

It was just a haircut.  What could go wrong?

"So", said the stylist, "Are you looking forward to starting school."

"Oh!  I'm home-schooled,"  Isaiah replied.  "We don't do school." 

Wait, what?   My head snaps up and mild panic sets in. "We do school," I mumble to no one in particular--as if to reassure myself.

I slouch down a little, and clutch my magazine a little tighter.

Stylist:  "Oh, well you must do some school."


Isaiah (thinking for a long moment):  "Nope.  Not really.   But I like playing in the creek."

My magazine started to wrinkle in my fists.  I considered standing up, reciting Isaiah's daily academic schedule, and declaring my commitment to quality education, but decided against it.  Instead I tried to disappear behind the cover of U.S. News and World Report.


Stylist to Isaiah:  "You need to stop moving around so much."

Isaiah (writhing to the left and holding his side):  "I'm having a hard time because on the way here, Elijah whacked me with his elbow.  I'm pretty sure I have a blister on my liver."

Stylist (lip twitching):  "That sounds pretty painful."

 Isaiah:  "It is."  (Pause)  "Hey, did you know you can kill someone if you hit them really hard in the nipple?"

**At this point I will pause for a side note:  If you ever want to suck all the air out of a room, try saying that.  It's rather remarkable!**

As soon as Isaiah let loose with his proclamation, every conversation in the salon went dead.  The scissors stopped.  Two rows of clients and stylists turned and clapped their eyes on the small boy who sat serenely making faces under his new haircut.  

My crumpled magazine fell from shaking fingers.

"Temple!"  I half shrieked, as I rose up out of the ashes of my embarrassment like a wild-eyed phoenix.  

"HAHAHA, he meant to say TEMPLE!  Right, Isaiah?  Temple!  Not nipple!  Sometimes he confuses 'dimple' with 'pimple' too."  

The rest of the scene is a little blurry.  I have a vague recollection of half- throwing a coupon and some money across the desk and lunging for the door.  I think my face was on fire and I'm pretty sure I saw Isaiah grab at least two suckers, but beyond that, the details get hazy. 
 
I may have shouted, "And we DO do school!!" to whoever was left in the waiting room as the door closed behind me, but I can't be sure.  

It was just supposed to be a haircut, but like so much of my boy's life, it turned into a "memorable event", which is why I am writing this post.

My life is so much richer because of  his existence, and while that is true of every single one of my children, it just so happens that I am noticing Isaiah's impact all the more right now because he is gone for his week of  "Grandparents' Camp" at Papa and Grandma Sally's farm.  It has only been two days and I miss his sweet face already.  

There are tiny reminders of him all over the house.

The milk is lasting way too long in the fridge, as is the yogurt, and I am not finding apple cores all over the porch.  The laundry has gone down by 1/3 and no one is thundering down the stairs every five minutes.  But mostly I am missing his wide smile and exuberant spirit.  

And his unfettered tongue.  

The tracks in Isaiah's mind are fast and winding.  Sometimes he gathers information, puts it together and makes an observation that wows us all.  Such insight!  Such wit!

Sometimes.

  Other times he combines ideas and they grow hair and scream and explode, like the Great Clips episode...

...and like when we were doing a midnight crossing last month from Canada to the U.S. and the border patrol agent was doing his "friendly interrogation" of Jamey in the front, and all of the sudden Isaiah's voice comes roaring up from the back seat, "HEY DAD!  HOW WOULD THEY EVEN KNOW IF YOU WERE LYING? "

Oh, my dear Isaiah!  Let's just say it's a good thing he was three rows back.


Actually, I knew that Isaiah would live large and loud from the moment I met him.  He arrived in haste, with bold features,  wild hair, and strong opinions on everything.  He screamed for three straight months while I scrambled to figure out what he was saying with such ear-splitting persistence. 

It turns out he didn't want gentle soothing.  He wanted vigorous bouncing and tight squeezes and  music with a beat and wind on his face.  He finally learned to sleep in a hammock dangling from a spring (originally designed for crack babies!)  The bed almost never stopped moving, and that's the way he liked it.

The boy knows what he wants.

I remember one interminable trip from NC to MI. Baby Isaiah had cried so long that three of the other kids started crying over the torture of being trapped in the same car with him.  I felt like crying myself.  I had pulled out every trick I knew.  My torso had been twisted back and wedged into the space between the two front seats for so long that I wondered if the contortion would be permanent.   In desperation, Jamey put on a Disciple CD loud enough to drown out the wails.  

Within seconds of hearing the driving bass line and squealing guitars from the Christian rock band, Isaiah was asleep.  

By the time he could talk, he would ask for "lullabies" and mean "anything with lots of drums".

Another trait which manifested early was his mannish appetite.  After eating like a ravening wolf for the first half year of his life, he suddenly went on a baby food hunger strike at 6 months, sending me into a panic.  For several days he would look at the puree I was trying to feed him and then glare at me with steely eyes and clenched jaw.  At the start of one meal, I noticed him staring Jamey down as he ate a piece of steak.  

It wasn't possible that a six month old could be craving steak, right?  How could he be?

 Jamey put a few shreds of meat on his fork, waved it in front of Isaiah's mouth, and we watched in wonder as he lunged forward, snarfed it down, and began bouncing and grunting in his seat.  Jamey scrambled to cut up more and from that day forward, he ate man-food along with his milk.

Yes, from day one, Isaiah has been one of those wonderful people who blaze their own trail, sing their own songs, speak their own language, and invite the rest of us to the party--if we dare. 

And we do, Buddy!  We dare!  We all miss you, and when you have fully entertained Papa and Grandma, we'll be here waiting for you. 

With apples;)

The Truth About Tantrums

We don't have as many tantrums at our house as we used to, so when one occurs I am usually able to look at it less emotionally and deal with it more effectively than I did when they were being lobbed at me like random air strikes multiple times a day.  

 Recently, however, for old times sake one of my kids launched into a vigorous, vocal protest over something.  As I walked down the hall toward the sound of screaming I thanked God that I was able view the situation so calmly.  I was serene in my resolve.  My face didn't get red.  My throat didn't constrict.  My heart didn't race.  

It was more like the response I sometimes have when I notice a fat fly on the windowsill, and less like when I find a fat mouse in the silverware drawer.  

Watching my little one flop and scream on the floor, I clearly saw the tender, firm, decisive course of action I would take with my tiny tyrant, and I began to congratulate myself on my calm, disciplined reaction.  (It takes so little to make us proud of ourselves! :)

And then, as so often happens in my parenting, I suddenly got the uncomfortable sensation that I was watching myself.  


In fact, I am firmly convinced that the reason God gives us toddlers for a few years is to gift us with  vivid demonstrations of how most of us would live our whole lives if left to ourselves.  

If you have ever seen a three year old take a position on--oh, let's say bedtime, you know what I am talking about.  

A parent can explain the obvious logic of taking a few hours out of the sandbox for a little shut-eye.

 It can be pitch black outside.  The child himself can be doing head-bobs and eye-rubs.  The rest of his siblings can be tucked in and snoring in front of him.  The negative consequences of defying the parental mandate are both clearly laid out and fresh in his memory, and yet somehow this small bundle of nascent logic will plant his feet, cross his arms, and die on that hill like a small, screaming Braveheart.   Without the blue paint. 

At that moment the strength of his convictions are such that he would rather lose everything dear to him than surrender that tiny piece of worthless ground.

Can you not think of two or three adults who are living like that right now?  Have you not lived there once or twice yourself?

Such is our capacity for self-deception!  Such is the weak strength of human logic. Such is our need for something outside ourselves to bring us back from our own destructive tendencies, to point us to truth, and to hold us there. 

The Bible even says as much.  Proverbs 28:26a  "Those who trust in themselves are fools, but those who walk in wisdom are kept safe."

Or 1 Corinthians 1:25, "For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength."


Or how about Jeremiah 17:9 "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked."

Or Mark 7:21 "For from within, out of the human heart, come evil ideas, sexual immorality, theft, murder."

 The only way to escape the trap of our own willful blindness is to follow hard after Christ.  He is the creator and dispenser of wisdom, and the fear of Him plants the seeds of it within us. (Proverbs 9:10)

The way to grow in wisdom is to learn to love the truth as found in His word.  Psalm 119:104-105 says, "From Your precepts I get understanding; Therefore I hate every false way. Your word is a lamp to my feet And a light to my path."

How do I learn to hate false ways?  By knowing and loving God's precepts.  Is there another way?  Not according to Him.  

How do I keep my way pure?  "By guarding it according to your word." (Psalm 119:9)  Is there another way?  Nope.

How long does this process take?  Only until you no longer need to breathe.  "Watch over your heart with all diligence, For from it flow the springs of life."  Proverbs 4:23  

Not just one time.  Not even once in a while, but with all diligence.  

It is a constant, conscious re-aligning of the heart from the moment of salvation to last breath, because the willful spirit--that relentless old man--is tugging against God and truth the entire time, like some sort of mangy, diabolical hyena.  

Galatians 5:17 says, "For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things that you please."

Romans 7:18 states, "For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out."


I think this is why so often our enemy doesn't have to work very hard to defeat us.  He isn't trying to convince us to do something we really, fundamentally don't want to do.  In fact sin is usually more like a whisper and a nudge than a finger in the face or a hard push.  

We're just waiting for an excuse to throw down our blankie and paci and defy heaven, and Satan is happy to encourage us in that direction.   

On our own, we humans inevitably seem to swing from truth and balance to lies and extremes.  And then, like toddlers we try to convince ourselves that our extreme positions are, in fact, balanced.  

You see this in the culture.  You see it in the church.  You probably see it in your own family.  

And if you don't see it in yourself, you should, because the rest of us do and we're just too scared to tell you;)

The truth is, we never really outgrow our need for  constant, close, and careful supervision.  And redirection.  And discipline.  

Our earthly father and mother are given to us to help us learn to look up, to listen, and to obey, but we never mature past our need to be parented.  

God's plan is that our earthly parents would lead us to Him, teach us to follow Him as they do, and eventually help us to fully transfer the mantle of their authority onto the one and only perfect Parent, our Heavenly Father. 

And then live under it.

The arrogance of a five year old informing me about her new vision for bedtime is much like our human arrogance in informing God about our new vision for gossip or gluttony or sex.   

Contrary to what I might insist during one of my spiritual "protests", ignoring God's word is not a sign of maturity.  

Stepping outside the parameters established for me by the one who created me, loves me more than anyone, and has perfect knowledge of what is best for me does not demonstrate forward thinking.  

Thumbing my nose at God's law does not prove my creativity, or open-mindedness, or superior reason, or massive intellect any more than my child's tantrum proved to me that kids don't need sleep.  

As usual, I am writing this to myself--and for my children.  

Dear ones, you are growing up in leaps.  Someday you won't throw tantrums in your bedroom anymore, but you will likely have them in your heart.  I won't see them, but God will and I will be praying you will let Him love you out of your fits before you hurt yourself or someone else.

Because you need Him.

You need Him like you needed me when you were two years old and trying to wander into the creek.  

You need Him like you needed me to hold you until you finally stopped fighting me and relaxed into my arms. 

You need Him like you needed me to help you see your worth and beauty.

You and I both need Him to save us from ourselves.

And someday when I am no longer here to pick you up off the floor and dry your tears and bring you to my heart, I hope that you will still reach up.

*******************

1 John 3:1

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

 

Isaiah 40:11

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.

Psalm 31:19

Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of the children of mankind!