Today Paw-paw asked me to climb a tree and saw off a limb for him. The ladder, fully extended, reached up about 20 feet but still fell six feet short of where the limb was on the tree. I dislike heights. But after I got the right footgear I ascended the ladder and reached for a fork in the tree where I could pull myself up to rest in safety and eliminate that bothersome limb. As the ground swayed below, or maybe it was the tree I was clinging to, I suddenly wished I had asked for authorization to abscond from this arduous arbor-axing assignment, leaning toward longing for leave from limb-loping, and believing it better to be basking in the Bahamas than bisecting branches. But I made it to where I needed to be and sawed the designated bough. It was then that Paw-paw yelled from the ground that he had good news for me. “What’s that?” I asked. “I only have one more branch up there for you to cut off,” he said. Great. Another one. Well, I was already up the tree and certainly wasn’t going to get all the way down just to have to climb it another day. “Get the one a couple more feet up, around the other side of the tree,” he instructed me. My arms had serious bark imprints from my sudden initiation into the tree-hugger clan by the time I successfully severed that sucker. Anna held the ladder while I climbed back down, telling Paw-paw that “a little terror does a body good.” He agreed, noting that it “keeps the adrenaline glands in working order.” Thus ended my tree-pruning adventure, hopefully the last time I will need to climb that high in a tree for years to come.

But it struck me that I might not have made the attempt at all if Paw-paw had revealed from the beginning that he had two limbs for me to remove, one “high up” and one “waaay high up.” I might have looked at the higher limb and judged it too lofty (literally) a job for such as myself. His decision to withhold certain pertinent details until I actually needed to know them speaks to me of his wisdom. I wonder sometimes if God does the same. “Trust me,” He says, and only shows us what is directly in front of us. Perhaps if we knew the long road ahead and the hard times to come we would lose heart and not try at all. Perhaps, when we reach the point where our sight fails and He finally reveals the next step, what formerly seemed insurmountable suddenly looks conquerable.

Written at 4:46 pm         ||         8 Comments

This shot of one of my grandfather’s red hibiscus flowers was taken a year or two ago. Today, he and I transplanted two of his hibiscus plants in preparation for the arrival of some plants he ordered on the Internet some time back. He mentioned that we broke some of the plant’s roots when we moved it, and that he had to cut off some of the stems so the roots can provide enough nutrients to feed all of the other stems. We got to talking about gardening, and he said transplanting can sometimes bring a plant from being “complacent” and just doing so-so to suddenly striving to survive and flourish. He said the move sort of shocks the plant by making it think it’s about to die, so it (in my words) reevaluates its priorities and decides to put more effort into living a productive life. Seems I’ve seen several peers do this at college. A little change-up can have a big impact on a life. Generally it stimulates people to examine what’s really important to them and to begin to take seriously what they had formerly taken for granted. Perhaps a little transplanting is needed now and again.

Written at 5:27 pm         ||         2 Comments

I think sometimes about handicaps. I wonder what it would be like to be blind or deaf or missing a limb. I think of how different life would be, how many ways my life would change. I wonder now about paralysis and total unresponsiveness. You know, those people who some call “vegetables.” Not the ones in comas, but those who are awake and still unable to respond, whose speech is gone, whose mobility is gone, whose eye contact is minimal, and who cannot do anything. Isn’t being greater than doing? I’ve always liked to think that who I am is more important than what I do. What if who I am is all I have?

One aspect of friendship, and of social life in general, is doing things together. Whether that consists of attending an event, playing a game, or sitting around the dinner table and chatting, “doing” is vital to any relationship. Some young married couples wonder what will happen when they run out of things to do together. Will they get bored with each other? Will they drift apart because their common interests have been exhausted, played out to their full extent? Or they imagine each other’s love is built on what they can do for each other. Will he still love me when I’m old and grey, she wonders. Will she stick around when I can’t buy her all the nicest things, he worries.

Then I imagine a husband and wife in their late 80’s, sitting on their front porch swing, enjoying the cool evening. They don’t have to do anything. In fact, their age prevents them from doing many of the enjoyable activities they used to busy themselves with. But now their love goes beyond doing and touches into the depths of being. Being together is more important than doing anything together.

I believe the greatest act of worship is to be with God. Not to recite a prayer. Not to sing a hymn. Not to say a word at all. Not to perform good deeds. Not even to love your neighbor. To be with God is the greater choice because all other avenues leave open the option for hypocrisy; they can be performed without sincerity. But being before God leaves no room for false intentions. To be is greater than to do.

Written at 6:16 pm         ||         7 Comments

A few days ago I was talking with Amrish. Our conversation got rather philosophical. After a bit, we started discussing ways to greet people or open conversations. I said I’d always been bad at starting conversations and prefer to just stay in the background and be quiet much of the time. I was going to say that I’ve always been a cerebral person, more introverted than extroverted. But I couldn’t think of the word “cerebral” and paused after “I’m… ” So Amrish, trying to help, interjected: “Aristotle?” Erm… not exactly what I had in mind. ;-) Har.

But I have always loved ideas. The deeper the better. Challenge me to solve a problem and I’m in my element. Introduce me to a new concept and I’m enthralled. I have an overwhelming tendency to place ideas higher than people. Not that I don’t like people, but I see before me a temptation to fall so in love with humanity and the desire to solve the problems of the world that I lose sight of the individuals. And that isn’t a true love at all. It’s like the guy who’s so concerned about providing for his kids that he works two jobs and only sees his kids on the weekends. He’s lost sight of what provision is. He isn’t there for his kids in the way they need him most. And if I want to tend to the hurts of humanity, I have to realize that it begins not with the big picture, but with lending a hand to people; not to humanity, but to humans.

“In, But Not Of” chapter 27: “Know everyone between your door and your desk.” An important, albeit small, step in the process of developing a concern for the individual humans I encounter can take the form of learning names. And not learning names only, but getting to know people. There are at least 20 guards inside and outside the American Embassy building. They know my name and my story. I don’t know theirs. There are two or three ladies who clean the Embassy building. Same goes for them. Dad and I take taxis home from work, and always from the same taxi stand. This stand employs less than 20 drivers. Same old guards. Same old cleaning ladies. Same old taxi drivers. I know their faces, but not their names. If I don’t even know their names, how can I possibly expect to help meet their needs? Given the present circumstances, can I even expect to learn about those needs in the first place?

Bear with me as I be brutally honest. At this point, I don’t care much about the needs of the aforementioned people. Truly. If I did, I would prove it by getting to know them. But before this sort of change can come, it must be understood to be lacking. Okay. Step one is done. What’s next? Digging up the nerve to ask some names. Then comes the third step. I guess that’s the tough one. I have to make a habit not only of asking more questions, but of asking them because I want to know; because I care. It’s not so simple as “let’s learn some facts.” Maybe learning names is the beginning, but my goal is a transformation of even the entire though process. I have a friend who is always asking questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you ask, he gives a brief answer and then turns the topic back to you. Not because he isn’t willing to reveal anything about himself, but because he wants to know about YOU. That’s what I want. I want to make people feel the way that makes me feel. I want people to know they’re special and that someone cares enough to spend some effort getting to know what’s up in their lives. Once I’ve learned to love individuals, maybe then I’ll be able to love humanity properly.

Written at 8:59 pm         ||         Add a Comment