Sandy Davis was a modern day Jeremiah. After 3 years of attentive care to her husband as his body deteriorated to death from Parkinson’s, Sandy was diagnosed 6 months later with cancer. The next two years were spent battling for her own life, even to the point of remission. Yet, the siege had not ended.
In what would be her final year of life, Sandy decided to buy the farm.
Despite facing constant fatigue, a housing market that had bottomed out, fluid build up in her lungs, record foreclosures, the daunting task of moving, and a cancer that had literally spread everywhere, Sandy decided to place her mountain home for the last 20+ years on the market and buy a foreclosure condo near her old hometown by the coast. She wanted to see the sun that winter. She wanted to see the beach again. She wanted to keep living and planning for the future because she knew there was something to look forward to.
Now, it is no good looking for fairy tale endings in life. Sandy died of cancer without ever again really being able to enjoy that sand between your toes day after day. That is beside the point, however. She lived—and died—in faith.
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Aunt Sandy would want the last year of her life to be tied up with the stress and trouble of selling a home in a market that had crashed, moving/packing and leaving your closest friends, and investing in some foreclosed piece of real estate hundreds of miles away. Then, I stumbled over Jeremiah 32 and God’s promise that “houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land.”
The reality was that Sandy was building on a hope far in the future. She didn’t expect to benefit herself so much from this foreclosed piece of land near the coast she bought. But, she knew all along that "houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land." That in some far off future, someone else would be seeing that sun, and walking that beach, and feeling that sand between their toes.
Jeremiah's field was to him what the condo on the coast was to Sandy—a sign of life, of hope, and a refusal to allow despair to be the final word. To act out our faith is not always easy. Sometimes we would like certainty and absolutes. But we fail to realize that certainty and absolutes are no longer faith.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
On the mantel (mantle)
A family of Hummels (each symbolic of an immediate family member), a three volume novelty display of antique books, a tri-fold picture frame complete with three children's photos, an assorted arrangement of sea shells wedged with broken sand dollar pieces, five candlesticks (2 of Jerusalem olive wood and 3 of polished brass), a large glazed pottery vase filled with decorative stalks of wheat, and a framed Italian watercolor of a seaside town centered above it all. What's this, you ask? A description of a fireplace mantel decorated by my in-laws.
The fireplace mantel originated in medieval times as a hood that projected over a grate to catch the smoke. Over time, as the placement of fireplaces moved to the wall, incorporating chimneys to vent the smoke, the term has evolved to include the decorative framework around the fireplace that can become the focal point of a room. In many ways, a mantel has become a decorative expression of ourselves.
In a similar way, I'm reminded of a mantle in the biblical sense. A different word, a different spelling, but the same pronunciation. The Hebrew word addereth, translated mantle, literally means "glory" or "cloak." It was traditionally a large, normally sleeveless garment made of rectangular pieces of thick material like wool, and adapted to a person's body not by cutting but by wrapping the cloth and holding it with clasps. It was a basic protection against the elements, a cover at night, and an important sign of dignity, status, and power as indicated by decoration, embroidery, dye, fringes, or tassels. To remove it signified a loss of status or transmission of power (often by receiving, touching, or grabbing the mantle). In the ancient world people seldom had multiple sets of clothing; thus garments were precious, expensive, and lasted a lifetime. A mantle was quite literally a symbol of your glory, a reflection of your identity. In one of the most famous biblical narratives, Elijah passes on his mantle to his disciple Elisha.
As I sit writing this morning, I'm staring at my own mantel. Just above the fireplace sits a Willowtree and a Hummel figure crafted of a married couple, a framed 10x13 from our wedding day and a 12x18 from a reception three years later, a picture of the "cutest kitty ever" and our first pet(now deceased), and a communion chalice and patten.
So, what's on your mantel/mantle? What does your cloak of glory look like? What does it say about you? And what will we pass on or transmit to others? Just something to think about. What are we decorating our lives with and what is the story it tells?
The fireplace mantel originated in medieval times as a hood that projected over a grate to catch the smoke. Over time, as the placement of fireplaces moved to the wall, incorporating chimneys to vent the smoke, the term has evolved to include the decorative framework around the fireplace that can become the focal point of a room. In many ways, a mantel has become a decorative expression of ourselves.
In a similar way, I'm reminded of a mantle in the biblical sense. A different word, a different spelling, but the same pronunciation. The Hebrew word addereth, translated mantle, literally means "glory" or "cloak." It was traditionally a large, normally sleeveless garment made of rectangular pieces of thick material like wool, and adapted to a person's body not by cutting but by wrapping the cloth and holding it with clasps. It was a basic protection against the elements, a cover at night, and an important sign of dignity, status, and power as indicated by decoration, embroidery, dye, fringes, or tassels. To remove it signified a loss of status or transmission of power (often by receiving, touching, or grabbing the mantle). In the ancient world people seldom had multiple sets of clothing; thus garments were precious, expensive, and lasted a lifetime. A mantle was quite literally a symbol of your glory, a reflection of your identity. In one of the most famous biblical narratives, Elijah passes on his mantle to his disciple Elisha.
As I sit writing this morning, I'm staring at my own mantel. Just above the fireplace sits a Willowtree and a Hummel figure crafted of a married couple, a framed 10x13 from our wedding day and a 12x18 from a reception three years later, a picture of the "cutest kitty ever" and our first pet(now deceased), and a communion chalice and patten.
So, what's on your mantel/mantle? What does your cloak of glory look like? What does it say about you? And what will we pass on or transmit to others? Just something to think about. What are we decorating our lives with and what is the story it tells?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Sandy clay
Ever walked along the beach and noticed an assortment of sandcastles and fortresses darting the sandy desert? I had seen a dozen sandcastles that day, some obviously more elaborate than others. Yet, for some reason, this one stopped my eyes in their tracks. And for more than a few seconds, I found myself staring.
I think one reason it grabbed me was because this one was still in the process of being formed. I watched intently as what appeared to be a father and his young son were hustling around to assemble this multiple turret fort that appeared to be sinking and shifting even as they rushed to shore up the foundation. They had already piled up sizeable bucket loads of sand and wet them so they would be sturdier and easier to mold. Behind this fort, a trench had already been carved to hold water.
Perhaps the other reason I found myself attracted to this sand fortress was the location. Until now, all the other sand creations I walked past that morning were dry and set back securely from the oncoming waves. But, this odd pair was building their fort just feet from the shore on already moist sand. (Not to mention the fact that the tide was coming in, not going out). So, my second fascination was why in the world was this father wasting his time so actively and intently teaching this boy about building a sand fort that was only moments from certain ruin? What could he possibly be teaching this young boy in those wasted minutes that day? Perhaps, just how foolish we humans are when it comes to the need to build big and foolishly near to the shore. How we all want to make our mark. Doesn’t he care or know that in a few minutes this boy will be crying and everything they had worked at so tediously would be a complete washout? No wonder folks today are so careless. The wise man built a house on rock, the foolish one built on the sand.
A very wise woman once said: People see God every day. They just don’t recognize him.
Suddenly, I began to re-imagine my sand fort encounter on the shore. I realized what may have truly attracted me to that wasteful scene with a boy and his father fashioning a sand fort in the path of destruction. Maybe that young father wasn’t teaching his boy about the arrogant nature of men to build in extravagant and foolish ways and toil away aimlessly. Perhaps, he was really teaching him about the nature of God; who wants nothing better, and couldn’t be happier, than to simply delight in play with his children. Maybe he was actually illustrating a brilliant lesson of how we are co-creators with God. How we may shift and move sand here or there, but God adds his own touch and molds as he sees fit. Maybe he was actually sharing something with his son without even knowing it. Perhaps, he was actually revealing with sand and water that our world isn’t that perfect, and things can crumble all around us, but it’s all about how we rework and refashion what we have. And, as I watched the first wave surge up to them and seep over their mound of sandy clay, it captured a pond of water in their trench before it retreated again.
I thought to myself: Maybe they weren’t trying to build a fort to withstand the surge of the tide, maybe they were just trying to catch waves of mercy.
I think one reason it grabbed me was because this one was still in the process of being formed. I watched intently as what appeared to be a father and his young son were hustling around to assemble this multiple turret fort that appeared to be sinking and shifting even as they rushed to shore up the foundation. They had already piled up sizeable bucket loads of sand and wet them so they would be sturdier and easier to mold. Behind this fort, a trench had already been carved to hold water.
Perhaps the other reason I found myself attracted to this sand fortress was the location. Until now, all the other sand creations I walked past that morning were dry and set back securely from the oncoming waves. But, this odd pair was building their fort just feet from the shore on already moist sand. (Not to mention the fact that the tide was coming in, not going out). So, my second fascination was why in the world was this father wasting his time so actively and intently teaching this boy about building a sand fort that was only moments from certain ruin? What could he possibly be teaching this young boy in those wasted minutes that day? Perhaps, just how foolish we humans are when it comes to the need to build big and foolishly near to the shore. How we all want to make our mark. Doesn’t he care or know that in a few minutes this boy will be crying and everything they had worked at so tediously would be a complete washout? No wonder folks today are so careless. The wise man built a house on rock, the foolish one built on the sand.
A very wise woman once said: People see God every day. They just don’t recognize him.
Suddenly, I began to re-imagine my sand fort encounter on the shore. I realized what may have truly attracted me to that wasteful scene with a boy and his father fashioning a sand fort in the path of destruction. Maybe that young father wasn’t teaching his boy about the arrogant nature of men to build in extravagant and foolish ways and toil away aimlessly. Perhaps, he was really teaching him about the nature of God; who wants nothing better, and couldn’t be happier, than to simply delight in play with his children. Maybe he was actually illustrating a brilliant lesson of how we are co-creators with God. How we may shift and move sand here or there, but God adds his own touch and molds as he sees fit. Maybe he was actually sharing something with his son without even knowing it. Perhaps, he was actually revealing with sand and water that our world isn’t that perfect, and things can crumble all around us, but it’s all about how we rework and refashion what we have. And, as I watched the first wave surge up to them and seep over their mound of sandy clay, it captured a pond of water in their trench before it retreated again.
I thought to myself: Maybe they weren’t trying to build a fort to withstand the surge of the tide, maybe they were just trying to catch waves of mercy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)