The Shoe
I know how she died.
Her family relayed the details. Witnesses gave me statements.
I’ve been to the scene, read the official report, browsed the news accounts.
And now, I’m reading the coroner’s report. The days these papers skid across my desk are the ones I’d rather not show up for work. I’d like to tuck the report between the manila folds without a glance and just say it contained no helpful information.
Rerun: Either Way, I Win
This post originally appeared in March . . . not that long ago to repost already, I suppose. But it remains an important one for me as God continues to drive home the reality of our – of my — finite and uncertain journey here. Contrasted with the infinite wonder of our eternity with Him, it’s a curious thing we do, holding on to withering sprigs.
I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! (Philippians 1:20-22)
One of the dear saints in my church told of her upcoming surgery to clear what even she would call a ginormous aneurysm from way too close to her heart. The surgery is risky, and complicated by other troublesome health conditions. “I’d like to continue on,” she said. “But if I don’t, well, that’s o.k. too. I know where I’m going. And I’ll see Jack again. I haven’t seen my husband since I was, what, 35 years old.”
Either way, she wins.
Either way, a glorious outcome.
Two such excellent choices. One hardly knows which to choose.
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Barking the Apple Tree
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.” John 15:1-8
Since we moved into our home 14 years ago, we have systematically removed nearly every tree. Despite what the previous owners may have believed, a shelter belt of trees is just not necessary in town.
Most of the trees I wanted removed. But it broke my heart to cut down the apple tree. This tree produced the most delicious apples. But one day it stopped bearing fruit.
It had something to do with an overactive puppy stripping all the bark off the trunk.
I’ll tell you something. Losing that tree was very sad. It was way more than “just a latte.” Ma’am.
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The summer after the the tree was degloved, knowing it would probably be the last crop we’d ever get, I spent a day up in the tree trying to get as many apples brought in as I could. After only one spectacular, death-defying crash from the top of ladder to the ground (I’m ok), we had enough apples to make a pie for everybody in town.
And when my brother-in-law inadvertently hauled all the good apples to the dump grounds along with the bad ones, I made him go back in to find every last one and bring them back. These apples were priceless.
Mom came out for the weekend and we cut and peeled and made junkyard apple pies and apple crisp and apple butter until we couldn’t stand it any more.
Between my aversion to cooking, heights and anything remotely related to gardening, you have to know that this was good fruit.
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We learned from the landscape guys that the tree would die. “Maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now,” they said. But it would die.
Which is exactly what it did.
I guess trees have a vascular system, and when that’s damaged, oxygen doesn’t get to the roots and water doesn’t get to the leaves. The spring after that last crop of apples, it didn’t even bud.
And then the tree was dead.
The bark was stripped off and it could not survive.
It could not produce. It had to be cut down.
Instead of bearing the tastiest apples the world has ever known, it became the apple wood that a grateful friend would use to barbecue and smoke meat.
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The vine is different than the apple tree, but there are some common realities for both. When you read Old Testament descriptions of destruction and devastation, the Word often talks about both the vine and the fig tree together. In the book of Joel, alongside the laying waste of the vines is the stripping off the bark of the fig tree. The King James says that
He hath laid my vine waste and barked my fig tree.
The tree needs oxygen and water to survive and bear fruit. The branches have to stay connected to the vine in order to survive and bear fruit. Either way, there has to be an attachment to the source of life.
The supply line cannot be disrupted.
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Here, Jesus tells us He is the true vine. The real thing. We are the branches. We have to stay connected to Him to get life. To get what we need to bear fruit. The branch lying on its own in the yard doesn’t produce fruit. It doesn’t even survive. It has to be connected to the vine. The tree with the bark torn away doesn’t yield fruit. It might look like it’s alive a little longer than a severed branch. But it’s disconnected from its source.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now. It’s going to dry up. It’s going to die.
And once the branches are dead, they are bundled up and tossed into the fire.
They’re used for a tasty barbecue.
And that’s it.
I need to be with Jesus. I need to remain in Him. I need his Word to remain in me.
I need to stay close.
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No Water, No Life
“This is what the Lord says: ‘Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who depends on flesh for his strength and whose heart turns away from the Lord. He will be like a bush in the wastelands; he will not see prosperity when it comes. He will dwell in the parched places of the desert, in a salt land where no one lives. But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.’” (Jeremiah 17:5-8)
I can’t be trusted with green plants. The only greenery I can keep alive is growing in my refrigerator.
Really, plants are a big commitment. If you don’t water them, they die. And that’s just too much responsibility for me.
JP brought me a plant from school for Mother’s Day. It was a little the worse for wear after the walk home, but he’s nursed it back. He waters it and watches it pretty closely. And it’s flourishing on the deck now. It’s a good thing this plant wasn’t forced to rely on me. JP is much more ready for that kind of commitment than I am. (Memo to my family: This doesn’t by extension mean that we should keep Sanchez, the tiny and helpless abandoned kitten you are nursing along.)
Jeremiah warns about trusting in man, depending on the flesh for strength. He says this kind of man will have turned away from God and will be like a bush in the wastelands, dwelling where no one else lives in the parched desert salt flats.
All dried up.
No water, no life.
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Trusting in man, trusting in the flesh, is like a plant trusting in me to care for it and water it. That plant may just as well be stuck in a clay pot in the Sahara for all the help it’ll get from me.
It isn’t going to make it.
A man can’t trust in himself and in his own strength and resources and still have his heart turned toward God. The two don’t work together.
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But contrast that as Jeremiah does with the one who does put his trust in the Lord. Like a tree planted next to the water. Its roots go out to the stream. Unlike being abandoned to the salt flats, it never has to fear heat or drought. There’s always an abundant supply of water within easy reach.
If my confidence is in God, I have all the resources I need.
My leaves stay green.
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Notice that it doesn’t say that it never gets hot and it never gets dry. This vegetation growing by the stream, though trusting in the Lord, does face drought. It does encounter extreme heat. It says so right in the text: “It doesn’t fear when heat comes.” Not, “It doesn’t fear that heat may come.” And ”It has no worries in a year of drought.” Not “It doesn’t worry that a drought may come.”
Make no mistake, the one who trusts in God will be tested, and thoroughly.
The heat will come — intense, fierce heat.
Drought will come — long, agonizing periods of drought.
It will get hot, and it will get dry.
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But to trust in God ensures a bountiful supply of water, of all we need. Our roots go down deep and can still reach the source. We still find life. We still bear fruit. Because we trust in God, even in the midst of fiery heat and withering drought.
It does no good to trust the flesh, trust my own abilities and resources. The desert is way too hot and dry to leave things in the care of someone who can’t or won’t remember to pour a cup of water in a flower pot every few days and move it out of the wind.
But God knows how to draw our roots out deep and stretch them so they reach the source. To keep them close enough that we can still draw on the cool, refreshing water we need for life.
Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord.
Stay close to the water. It’s the only way to survive the desert heat.
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The Conversation