Month: August 2024

Hidden

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The tree is gone now, with not even a stump remaining where it stood, to bear witness to its existence.

For years, the Lovely Lady and I walked, rode, and drove past the old oak tree.  It was just one oak in a grove of twenty or more bordering our local cemetery, with nothing to make it stand out.

You know by now (if you read my articles often) that I love trees.  Their beauty is not only in the aesthetic qualities they have—the sturdy trunk, the spreading canopy, the soaring height—but is also in the functional part of them, the part that shades the earth from the sun and helps to fill the atmosphere with the oxygen that is necessary for life.

One day, a few weeks ago, we noticed that several limbs on the beautiful oak were dead.  Completely dead.  I can’t be sure, but they may have been dead for some time before that.

Still, it wasn’t long before a crew was there to trim off those dead limbs.  The tree was near a very busy street and the city couldn’t risk having a limb fall into traffic and potentially injure someone.  So, the lifeless limbs with their brown leaves were removed and hauled off.

All was well again.  We thought.

Then last week, the crew came back.  They downed the entire tree, much to our dismay.  Sure, it was one of many, hardly to be missed.  But, I hate it when trees are chopped down, especially trees that are alive and healthy.

However, even looking at the stump from across the street (before they brought the machine to grind it out), we could tell something was amiss.  Perhaps, it hadn’t been a healthy tree after all.  We walked over, exclaiming about what we found there.

The oak had been completely hollow.  Rotten to the core.  There was even evidence that, through a void near the ground, a wild animal of some sort had crept in and made a den inside the huge shell of a tree.

What a shock!  Living, but filled with death.

The words of a prayer in The Book of Common Prayer come to mind.  They were first written in Latin, way back in the 1300s.

“Media vita in morte sumus“

“In the midst of life, we are in death.”

The common usage today is for funeral services.  It was not so when the words were written.  They were written as a reminder to man that we ourselves are sinners, full of decay and degeneration.  Alive on the outside, but inside full of nasty things.

I sat in my local coffee shop this morning, a lovely establishment, owned by a believer.  As I sat sipping the delicious brew and enjoying my yogurt parfait, I listened to the quiet worship music playing.  A delightful and reassuring start to my morning.

Then, I noticed writing on the edge of my yogurt cup.

Why is there always something to disturb the satisfaction of life as we’ve made it?  I want to sit and enjoy the knowledge that all is well, that I’m doing just fine, yet thoughts and words intrude.

The writing on the cup was a scripture reference from Colossians 3.  It included a specific verse, but I looked up the entire chapter on my laptop.  It wasn’t all stuff I wanted to read.

I read it anyway.

“So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you.“ (Colossians 3: 5a, NLT)

Then there is a list of the things that live inside us, but shouldn’t.  Impure thoughts—immorality—lust—even greed.

And now, I can’t get the picture of that tree out of my head.  And the words of the Teacher, as He castigated the religious leaders of His time for their double-mindedness.  White-washed tombs, He called them.

Our thoughts matter.  What’s inside of us will eventually come out.  In actions.  In words.

I don’t want to rot from the inside.

I’d rather stand tall, like those trees in the first Psalm.  Planted on the banks of a river flowing with pure, life-giving water.

Shade for the weary traveler.  Fruit for the hungry.

Alive.

Completely alive.

Put away that chainsaw, would you?

 

 “Let the message about Christ, in all its richness, fill your lives. Teach and counsel each other with all the wisdom he gives. Sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs to God with thankful hearts. And whatever you do or say, do it as a representative of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through him to God the Father.”  (Colossians 3:16-17, NLT)

“I wish not only to be called Christian, but also to be Christian.” (Saint Ignatius)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.

 

All Things New

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment
Image by Siggy Nowak on Pixabay

 

“The house seems to be falling apart.”

It was only seven years ago that the Lovely Lady and I purchased her childhood home and, leaving our comfort zone far behind, labored for several months to make sure the house was ready to be lived in.  We installed new appliances, replaced floors and ceilings, and generally spiffed up the inside spaces.

Set for life.  I’m pretty sure those were the words I used when we moved our furniture, artwork, and books into the beautiful space.  I was certain we had done good work, purchasing quality materials, and planning for future needs.

Now, it’s falling apart.

Oh, it’s not really falling apart.  But, the sprayer in the kitchen sink gave up the ghost a couple of weeks ago, prompting me to order a new one from an online superstore (which shall remain nameless).  The replacement arrived and was duly installed, only to fail within five days.  I sent it back and went to visit the local building supply.  We’ll see how long this replacement lasts.

Then, last week, our kids and grandkids came for a visit (as they do most weeks).  Having eaten a little too much for supper, I suggested to the Lovely Lady that we take a walk right after bidding the rowdy bunch a loving goodbye.  We returned to a house that was much warmer than the outside temperature.

With help from YouTube, I figured out what was wrong with the air conditioner compressor and effected a repair, but not before an encounter with a mathematically challenged sales rep at the local home repair center.  He was kind enough to accept a return of the part he recommended in error and, still shaking his head in confusion, sent me on my way.

It’s cool inside again, but some part of me—the non-logical part—tells me the house is falling apart.

I keep installing new parts in old gadgets. The refrigerator, the stove, the storm doors.

It’s the only way I know to keep them functioning.

The Teacher had something to say about new parts in old things.

“Besides, who would patch old clothing with new cloth? For the new patch would shrink and rip away from the old cloth, leaving an even bigger tear than before.“  (Matthew 9:16, NLT)

I know—it’s not the same thing; I’m not comparing apples to apples, as the red-headed lady who raised me would have said.  Still, it seems incongruous—putting new parts in old machinery.

Sooner or later, the old parts remaining in the device will fail and I’ll throw away the entire affair, new parts and old alike.

It will all fall apart eventually.

And, without invitation, the fatalism that has eaten at my core for years shows up anew.  I’ve said the words before.  To my shame, I’ve said them.

“What’s the use?”

I want to blame that red-headed lady, the one who raised me.  She had so many catchphrases to prove her point.

“It’s just par for the course.”
“It is what it is.”
“Why would I expect anything better?”
“The story of my life!”

I want to blame her, but it’s not her fault.  It’s not.  The human reaction to change and challenges is to believe the worst—to foresee failure.  Even when we’ve experienced triumphs again and again we somehow seem to expect that the next time, we may not rise from the ashes victorious.

Change is hard.  It pushes us to the edge of our abilities and even the limits of our hopefulness. 

And sometimes, we do fail.  Or, we experience losses.  Despite all our blessings, we begin to anticipate the rough times.

Just last week, as I talked with a younger friend entering his middle years, I realized the pattern starts early.  He spoke of difficulties, of challenges ahead, and even of losses behind.  I tried to reassure him that good things still lie ahead, but in retrospect, I think my private doubts might have made my words a little dubious.

I’m not alone.  Many I know are uncertain in these tempestuous days.  Almost without exception, we wonder where our world, our country, and our communities are headed.  And, then there are the personal issues: our families, our neighborhoods, our work, even our faith communities.

Can I say this?  I may not have been resolute enough in my affirmation of good things ahead with my young friend, but I am absolutely certain of one thing.

Our Creator is making all things new.  Even now, it is happening.  It’s what He does.

“For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.”
(Isaiah 43:19, NLT)

New.

Not refurbished.  Not repaired.  Not mended.

New.

If we are truly followers of Christ, we have already been made new in Him.  But, the day is coming when all around us will be made new.

He promised.

All new.

I’m ready for that.

Until then, I’ll keep repairing the things that break. 

And counting my blessings.

 

“And the one sitting on the throne said, ‘Look, I am making everything new!” And then he said to me, “Write this down, for what I tell you is trustworthy and true.'”
(Revelation 21:5, NLT)

“A man builds a fine house, and now he has a master and a task for life: he is to furnish, watch, show it, and keep it in repair the rest of his days.”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.

 

Time to Wake Up

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I woke up this morning.

And, with that one sentence, you may know all you need to know about my day.

“The steadfast and resolute love of the Lord never wavers.  There is no end to His mercies.  Every morning we awake, they are fresh and new.  What astounding faithfulness!”  (Lamentations 3:22-23, my paraphrase)

I awoke this morning and got out of bed.  There were clothes for my body and shoes for my feet.  Food was available to keep up my strength—although that would wait until after I drank my first (and maybe, my second) cup of coffee.

My house is still standing and my children—and grandchildren—can still put their arms around my neck and tell me they love me.

But the words in those verses above have nothing to do with all those things.  Well, except for the “every morning we awake” part.

We glibly speak (and sing) the words of Lamentations, yet rarely think of the weight of the words to the people who first heard the words of the weeping prophet, Jeremiah.

They are heavy words.  Words to give a foundation when all around turns to quicksand.  Words to offer food and drink when all about has become a barren and desolate desert.

The people for whom the words were originally intended were under an aggressive physical attack.  They were being starved and their homes destroyed. There was rape and cannibalism among them.  Life was horrible.

Things are not that bad here.  Not yet.

Still, everywhere I look, folks are using hyperbole to tell us it can’t get any worse. You’ve seen—and read—and heard what I’m talking about.  It doesn’t seem to matter what one’s faith tradition is, nor even their political leaning.

“Disaster!”, they all cry.

And yet, in the midst of a real (not imagined) disaster, Jeremiah wrote the words that would stand for a thousand generations.  And for many more.

Those words have the same weight today as they did the day he took up quill, ink, and scroll to write them down.

Maybe it’s time to quit doom-scrolling.  I’m certain the words appearing on your phone’s screen today won’t be remembered at all a thousand years from now.  Perhaps, not even a week from now.

All those Chicken Little folks who think the sky is falling won’t change the resolute will of our Creator one iota.  And, He is for us!

He is for us!

In our corner.

On our side.

And, I woke up this morning.  You too, I bet.

I’m going on.  Today, at least.

Are you coming with?

 

“But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;
let them sing joyful praises forever.
Spread your protection over them,
that all who love your name may be filled with joy.”
(Psalm 5:11, NLT)

“One day Henny-penny was picking up corn in the corn yard when—whack!—something hit her upon the head. ‘Goodness gracious me!’ said Henny-penny; ‘the sky’s a-going to fall; I must go and tell the king.'”
(from the English fairy tale, Henny-Penny)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.