do it today

I thought today would be the day.

Today should have been the day. I’ve put it off far too long.

Yes. Today. I got out the saw. I was already dressed appropriately, having pulled on work clothes as I rolled out of bed this morning.

It wouldn’t be a quick job; that didn’t really matter. I would take off a limb here, another one there. Slow and steady wins the race. That’s what the red-headed lady who raised me would have said.

If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s slow. Steady? Not so much. Still, today was the day.

I extended the pole-saw up far enough to lop off a limb that overhung the fence. Not large enough to damage it when it fell, but enough to see progress had been made.

Thunk!

The branch from the old apple tree smacked the ground harder than I anticipated. This was really happening, wasn’t it? I reached up for another. As I reached, my mind reached back.

Thunk!

I leaned the long pole-saw against the five-foot-tall welded-wire fence. That was all I could do. I needed to sit down. Soon. I wasn’t sure I could even manage the strength to pull the limbs out to the brush pile, next to the little cul-de-sac street in front of the old house.

I got them out there, but the weight on my chest just wouldn’t go away.

I went inside and sat down, angry at myself. This was stupid. It should have been a simple job. Cut down the old shrunken and split apple tree. How difficult could it be?

History has weight. It does. It comes with an onus, an obligation.

I’ve just never felt it quite that heavy before. Oh, living in this world for over sixty years has taught me the lesson a little. But, the last few years are schooling me in that particular chapter more than I ever wanted.

I thought I was ready. As much as anything, that old tree signifies my memories of a family whose life has been tied up in this little patch of land and this old house from its first days. The Lovely Lady grew up playing near it and others, now long cut down. For more than half a century, the changing seasons have brought forth desserts and side-dishes worth remembering from the tree.

But, the tree has reached the end of its life. I’ve written about it here before—the twisting of the storm winds that opened the huge split, now held up by a two-by-four and a couple of plumber’s straps—and the shearing off of the largest part of the tree this last spring as another weather front blew through.

We would gather one last crop, having one last season to enjoy the applesauce and an apple pie or two—perhaps even a big pan of apple crisp drowned in heavy whipping cream. Then the tree, having lived a full life, would come down to be replaced by new ones planted in and near its footprint.

The last crop never came, the little green apples that promised so expectantly last spring disappearing before ever one came to the table. Barren. The tree is done. It will have to come down.

But, the unkept promise of one more crop rankles. Unfinished business. What if—what if we tried to keep it alive just one more cycle, one more time through the process the Creator programmed into its DNA?

Tomorrow.

I need more time. The weight of that final act is too heavy for me today.

Maybe next week. Or next year.

It’s silly, isn’t it? A tree. It’s only a tree.

The heart is so foolish. And, so fickle.

The weight of the past seems a very real thing, slowing us down, keeping us hoping against hope, even convincing us that tomorrow will work better than today.

It won’t.

The apostle (my namesake) stood before the Roman governor and told him his future if he didn’t turn around. Felix listened and, with the weight of his situation on him, told Paul he would consider it at a more convenient time. (Acts 24:25)

There will be no more convenient time.

Today.

That’s what we have.

Today.

In my many years as confessor to quite a number of folks (for some reason, the counter at our music store seemed a comfortable place for the rite, with both stranger and friend, young and old participating), I can’t count the number of people who wanted yesterday back.

From the man who told me on the day of his grandmother’s funeral of refusing to return one last phone call to her, to the boy who needed another shot at demonstrating his love for an absent girlfriend, they all wanted to live that particular today over again.

Today has an expiration date. It’s today.

Today has an expiration date. It's today. Share on X

The opportunities forfeited—the doorways passed by—all come back with a history and a weight all their own.

You see, we make history with every action and every inaction, every word spoken and every one left unsaid.

History has weight. Somehow, time seems to make it heavier.

It’s time to lighten our loads.

Jesus promised a lighter burden if we’d come to Him. The offer still stands. (Matthew 11:28-29)

The weight of our history need not overwhelm nor cripple us.

The weight of our history need not overwhelm nor cripple us. Come. Rest. Share on X

We’ve all got enough apple trees to grapple with in our lives without adding to that weight.

Come.

Rest.

Do it today. Today.

There’ll be apple pie again.

There will.

Shall we never get rid of this Past? . . . It lies upon the Present like a giant’s dead body.
(from The House of the Seven Gables ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne ~ American author ~ 1804-1864)

Are we weak and heavy laden,
Cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge,
Take it to the Lord in Prayer.
(from What a Friend We Have in Jesus ~ Lyrics by Joseph Scriven ~ Public Domain)

Church was full this morning. Everyone sat a little closer together. Everyone sang a little louder. There were more hugs, and more laughter afterward.

It all makes me a little sad.

That didn’t come out right. Maybe, I should explain.

The church is full because the teachers and professors are returning from their summer travels, their mission trips, their expeditions to expand horizons in their own minds so they can do the same for their students.

Hmmm. I seem to be making it worse instead of better.

I want to be very clear. I like the teachers and professors. I really do. It’s just that if they’re coming back, the students can’t be far behind.

Oh. That’s no better either, is it?

I love the students coming back, too. Really, I do. They fill the place with life and joy—optimism, even.

Let me give this one more shot, okay?

Their return (both teachers and students) means summer is almost over. Even the weather this week belies the calendar. Temperate days and cool nights have descended and rain has come back.

Oh, I know the summer weather will return with a vengeance. It always does in late August and September.

But, the thought is planted in my head and I can’t shake it. Summer is passing; already it’s nearly past.

And somehow, I feel like Alice’s White Rabbit clutching a pocket watch and muttering, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late.”

I never did find out exactly what the nervous hare was worried about being tardy for, but still, I can’t help thinking I haven’t accomplished everything I should have.

I mentioned it to the Lovely Lady a few days ago and she reminded me of all we’ve done this summer. I listened to her list and I had to smile. We covered some ground—we did. But, I wanted to do more.

I suppose it will always be that way. A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, as Mr. Browning explained so well. But, I fall short so often.

I wanted to do more—and better.

I think of all the time wasted believing it couldn’t be done. You know—it. Whatever the new thing in front of me was.

I’ve never done this before. What if I mess it up?

I stood underneath the new ceiling fan with my son-in-law this afternoon and I had to laugh. He was bemoaning the fact that he has no confidence in working with electrical wiring. If he did, he would have a fan hanging from his ceiling as quickly as you could say downdraft.

I did. I laughed.

Man, electricity is easy! That over there—that’s what frightens me silly.

I jabbed a finger at the kitchen floor I am currently trying to cover with vinyl tile.

I’m not exaggerating, nor am I bragging. We purchased the materials for the job weeks ago. I stood for hours staring at the bare sub-floor before I could bring myself to even open the first box of tile.

Hanging the ceiling fan took half an hour. Less.

Yeah, but that stuff won’t kill you. The electricity could.

I laugh at his logic. He is right.

I like being in control. I enjoy doing things which make me look good to the folks around me. The problem is God doesn’t always give me assignments with which I’m comfortable.

When I want to stand in front of folks and speak of things with which I’m familiar, He tells me to climb under the house and repair the plumbing.

When I would rather repair a guitar with buzzing strings, He assigns me to pray with the man who’s just lost his wife of sixty years.

We waste a lot of time wishing He’d give us something else to do. I know I do.

I spend my breath—the breath He put in my lungs—attempting to convince Him I could be so much more use to Him doing the same things I’ve always done.

Moses said, What if they don’t listen to me? And God replied, Who do you think determines if people listen? Or see? Or speak? I will give you the tools! Just go! (Exodus 4:10-13)

Here we are again at the small end of the year. The hours of daylight are getting shorter.

And still, I stand and argue my case.

How much time I’ve wasted.

Is there still time? Yes. With Sam Gamgee’s old dad, I’ve said it many times—where there’s life, there’s hope.

It’s just time to quit stalling.

Or, as we used to say in those ball games we played in empty fields at the end of days full of activity:

Get a move on! The light’s going!

With the thought that summer might be running out comes a renewed urgency. Not much time now. Falling leaves are just around the corner. Hot cocoa and all things pumpkin flavored.

To everything, there is a season.

I want to use the breath He gave me for the purposes He intended it for. Today.

Use the breath He gave for His purposes. Do it today. Share on X

What’s that in your hand?

It’s time to use it. You might want to get a move on.

The light’s going.

We are not as strong as we think we are.
We are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
And, with these our hells and our heavens
So few inches apart,
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are.
(Rich Mullins ~ American singer/songwriter ~ 1955-1997)

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.
(Ecclesiastes 9:10 ~ KJV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Maybe Tomorrow

Summer is Passing