One way to ruin Lent is to be involved in a lawsuit. Four years ago, a local developer scraped the vegetation off a high hill upstream from us. He did not have adequate erosion control measures in place. When the rains came, a wall of red clay mud came rolling down Dark Hollow Creek, filling our pond and eroding the creek banks, washing away the gravel in our road and flooding our basement, undercutting the spillway of the pond and killing the fish. For four years we have lived with the ugly results of this man’s carelessness. A once lovely little pond filled with fish, turtles, ducks and geese, herons and frogs has lain silent. When it rains it becomes a bog, wet dirt that sucks you under if you walk on it.
This lawsuit, this attempt to force the man to do what is right, to restore what he destroyed, has required my focus and attention. Everyday I wake up thinking about what I must do today, what has been asked of me by the attorneys. Out of the four partners in our farm family, I am the only one available for this job. Michael and Tim must work at their full time jobs. Jeannie has a family crisis that demands her presence in another city. So Tuesday, I sat in a room with four lawyers and a court reporter, sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help me God, about our pond and its ruination.
It was a sobering nerve wracking experience. How do you tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth four years of pain and suffering later? How can I describe what driving by that scab on the wound of the pond that once was has done to my soul? The anger and frustration and disappointment have scarred my soul these past few years. And now I get to revisit all those feelings of anger and grief and frustration and rage again. I get to sit in the same room with the developer next Monday for mediation in hopes that a settlement can be reached.
Somehow I need to find a settlement for my soul this Lenten season. The pond lawsuit will end and our pond will be restored. It will gleam again, offer the sounds of spring peepers and bullfrogs, provide a soft landing for ducks and geese who fly in for a nights rest and morning breakfast, be home to large mouth bass jumping for joy. My soul will find its resting place as I journey through Lent looking for ways to dig out the muck, rebuild the banks that contain the living water of the Spirit that flows through the Dark Hollow Creek of my life. Reading the Bible, pondering the story, focusing on those truths which will lead me to new light and new life, holding myself accountable for all that has been done and undone, I walk towards Holy Week in the knowledge that we all fall short of the glory of God. Help me, Dear One, to forgive myself and the developer so that I might let go of all that separates me from you. Keep me balanced between the clarity of judgement and the comfort of mercy so that I might see myself as You see me, beloved and forgiven. Amen.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Lent... the catch dog of the liturgical year
Barney came to us bearing the wounds and scars of abuse. For two years he watched us from afar, gradually drawing closer, slowly gaining trust in us. The UPS man who refused to leave his truck because of Barney’s fearsome barking, once again leaves packages on the front porch. Men wearing baseball hats are allowed in the front yard again and cameras are a nuisance not a threat. He is still shy, choosing to approach you from the rear rather than straight ahead. But, he will come and let you pet him. Our Christmas miracle was Barney’s coming into the house, sitting in the chair with Michelle, Adam’s wife, for hours with his head laid in her lap. It was a complete turnaround from his former self. As you can see in the attached picture, he is sprawled in our neighbor’s lap resting in the assurance of comfort and mercy.
I sent this picture to my Uncle Harold, daddy’s last surviving brother. He holds the family memories of growing up on a hardscrabble farm. Farm animals were allowed to roam free finding food in the surrounding land. Fences for small pens were attached to barns. Hogs had notches in their ears and every farmer had his own pattern, much like the brands on cattle. When it was time to round up hogs or get hold of one particular animal, the catch dog would be called. This dog would have been trained to run up behind the animal and take hold of the hind leg in a place that would prevent the animal from running away. The farmer could then approach the animal to do whatever needed to be done.
Uncle Harold took one look at Barney’s picture and told the story of their family’s catch dog that looked just like our dog. Barney is a Black Mouthed Southern Yellow Cur, an old breed in the south, used for working livestock, hunting and protection. If you saw the movie Ole Yellow, you saw one of Barney’s forebears. Old memories made new again floated to the surface of Uncle Harold’s memory as the sight of Barney triggered a stream of stories.
Lent is the catch dog of the liturgical year. It forces us to stand still, to stop life as usual, to reflect and remember all that has gone before. If we wait in silence, all the hard good beautiful ugly painful joyous memories of our life this past year will come to us, holding us captive to the tender mercies of God as we confess and are forgiven. And in that waiting time, that slow confessing and forgiving time, we can find release and healing for all that has wounded our souls, for all the hurt we have inflicted on others and new life can come to be. We can sing the old hymn, “Marvelous grace of our Loving Lord, grace that exceeds our sin and our guilt...Grace that will pardon and cleanse within...Grace that is greater than all our sin.” We can know the wondrous miracle of being tended to, relieved of our imperfections, forgiven our sins and sent on our way to new life in Christ, risen and redeemed.
Dear God, I need Lent this year. Catch me, hold me still. Make me over in the image of your Son so that I might be more loving, more like You. Give me a new life washed clean and made whole by your clarity, judgement and grace. And when I am set free again, help me to run the fields with joy and gratitude for this wonderful gift of life. Amen
I sent this picture to my Uncle Harold, daddy’s last surviving brother. He holds the family memories of growing up on a hardscrabble farm. Farm animals were allowed to roam free finding food in the surrounding land. Fences for small pens were attached to barns. Hogs had notches in their ears and every farmer had his own pattern, much like the brands on cattle. When it was time to round up hogs or get hold of one particular animal, the catch dog would be called. This dog would have been trained to run up behind the animal and take hold of the hind leg in a place that would prevent the animal from running away. The farmer could then approach the animal to do whatever needed to be done.
Uncle Harold took one look at Barney’s picture and told the story of their family’s catch dog that looked just like our dog. Barney is a Black Mouthed Southern Yellow Cur, an old breed in the south, used for working livestock, hunting and protection. If you saw the movie Ole Yellow, you saw one of Barney’s forebears. Old memories made new again floated to the surface of Uncle Harold’s memory as the sight of Barney triggered a stream of stories.
Lent is the catch dog of the liturgical year. It forces us to stand still, to stop life as usual, to reflect and remember all that has gone before. If we wait in silence, all the hard good beautiful ugly painful joyous memories of our life this past year will come to us, holding us captive to the tender mercies of God as we confess and are forgiven. And in that waiting time, that slow confessing and forgiving time, we can find release and healing for all that has wounded our souls, for all the hurt we have inflicted on others and new life can come to be. We can sing the old hymn, “Marvelous grace of our Loving Lord, grace that exceeds our sin and our guilt...Grace that will pardon and cleanse within...Grace that is greater than all our sin.” We can know the wondrous miracle of being tended to, relieved of our imperfections, forgiven our sins and sent on our way to new life in Christ, risen and redeemed.
Dear God, I need Lent this year. Catch me, hold me still. Make me over in the image of your Son so that I might be more loving, more like You. Give me a new life washed clean and made whole by your clarity, judgement and grace. And when I am set free again, help me to run the fields with joy and gratitude for this wonderful gift of life. Amen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
