The Twisted Post

At the end of our daughter's driveway sits a cluster of mature cedars, a once stagnate piece of property, now transformed into a magical tree house setting for our six-year-old grandson, Thatcher (T). What if we were able to change the stagnate parts of our world into something extraordinary as well?

Each day after school, excitement filled the air as T bolted down the driveway to greet his Pap and inspect the tree house progress. In his little world, the tree house represented a big wood LEGO project, and those daily interactions were often priceless. But none was more precious than the day he picked up the level and began to shake it vigorously. "What's this used for, Pap? And why does the bubble move back and forth?"

Derick playfully wrested the level from T's hand and lodged it up against a nearby post. "See how the bubble sits in the middle? This one is considered to be a perfect post to build on." 

 "Huh, okay Pap."

Now our grandson tends to be a bit obsessive when he learns something new. So this new-found "bubble in the middle" revelation sent him on a mission, where he lunged from post to post, to make sure all had passed the test. But it wasn't long before he spun around and yelled, "Oh no, Pap! This post is twisted! The bubble isn't in the middle! You have to get rid of it!"  

"Yes, I agree this post is different from the other ones, Kiddo. But I decided to build around it because, well, it's sturdy and remains an important part of the solid foundation. Besides, it'll add character and uniqueness to your tree house."  

A valuable teaching/learning moment that day perhaps helped our grandson better understand the concept that—in the (grand) scheme of things—being different is okay.

Imagine what life would be like if we lived by the principle that although we are different from one another (or don't fit a particular mold), we can still be a pillar of strength and character, built into a foundation of inclusiveness. 

Unfortunately, though, throughout history, humanity (including inside the walls of religion) has struggled with this view of "perceived" perfection. And while my tree house story is light-hearted, some of life's teaching moments aren't. 

Take the biblical account of the religious leaders who denounced Christ, for example. To them, He was seen as a threat to their power, a false prophet, not worthy of the religious rite that they had perfected. Primarily, He was seen as a twisted post, spreading a different message forward for God, effectively putting their foundation off level.

Christ had tilted the bubble of the religious leaders so far off center that they started to plot against him, instead of building around Him, eventually pushing the ruler of the times to crucify Him, so that they could remain inside a non-inclusive and unchangeable bubble. It was indeed a historical teaching moment because Christ's resurrection burst their view of God, wide open.

In reality, Christ became the only perfect corner post of the Christian faith, and His life story reminds us that if we choose to follow him, we become the "light of the world." In other words, we become the way the world sees God. But yet, we remain divided. And the thing is, whether our conflicting views fall left or right of center, divisive rhetoric has never generated light in the world. Instead, it fuels hatred. 

Christ, on the other hand, taught us to show patience when dealing with our differences; He taught us to show kindness and mercy, to look after the poor, to control our anger, and to recognize that the Kingdom of God has a place for ALL who sincerely seek it. 

As Christians, we envision our stagnate divisive world transformed into one of beauty, through the extraordinary teachings of Christ. After all, He provides us with the tools to build unity, right? 

So let’s continue to be twisted and stretched, to allow our light to remain a representation of His goodness. In turn, we may add to His foundation—one twisted post at a time—through the people we impact.

The Climb

Born and raised in Newfoundland, Derick and I frequently took our two children back to visit family still residing there. And although we visited during various times of the year, I would say that July and August are the most popular to witness the island's vast beauty, and one of its gems is Gros Morne National Park, with the mystical Gros Morne Mountain rising out of its midst.

It's been more than two decades since our families' summer vacation led us on an adventurous, seven-hour journey to conquer this often fog-shrouded mountain, testing our endurance and perseverance along the marked path en route to the summit and back down again.

I still vividly remember the strenuous climb up through the gorge, and how painful and daunting it was for me. I moaned and groaned and gasped for air as I climbed over boulders, literally, on my hands and knees. My sore stretched calves had me resting every five minutes, and each time I contemplated quitting.

You see, I wanted the splendor of the mountaintop that awaited me, but I didn't want to do the hard work it entailed to get there: I wanted comfort. I wanted the easy way out. But thanks to Derick and our two children for urging me to keep going, the most spectacular view stood before us on the summit that day. From the broader viewpoint of the mountain, we were also able to capture a better perspective on how far we'd traveled, and it certainly gave us a different outlook than the forested area below.

However, after every mountaintop event in life, there's a valley in which we must descend. And it wasn't long into ours before we were temporarily forced to huddle together when a fast-moving rainstorm came upon us and produced a dense fog cover over the mountain. It not only dampened our summit experience, but it also turned the rocky terrain into a slippery, treacherous mess, heightening our sense of urgency to reach the base area safely.

But whether we are literally or figuratively climbing a mountain, both have pain and hard work involved. Because not unlike my mountain climb expedition, there have been times in my Christian journey where it felt like I was crawling along, times when I wanted to quit, times when I wanted it to be more comfortable, and times when I felt shrouded in a fog, not knowing my way out.

I am sure we can all relate to the many challenges life brings and to the fact that these challenges can—for a short time—veil our inner beauty, and even test our faith. However, there's no better way to weather the storm than to huddle together with those closest to us, to help us come to terms with our circumstances and regain our footing.

So often, though, our initial response is to pull back and try to face things on our own, and while this may be okay for a period, we aren't created to climb alone. Instead, Christ's calls us to encourage one another, to build one another up, and to give one another that extra support along the, sometimes, rocky path of life.

As we celebrate our faith and give thanks for the miracle of the Cross this Easter, let us also call to mind our humanness, to recognize that (just like us) Christ's closest followers had times when they were shrouded in a fog of doubt and fear. But the illustration of Him stumbling and crawling up the incline with the burden of the cross/world on His shoulders is one of redemption. He rose again to offer His grace, love, and forgiveness to a world that was and still is in desperate need of hope and guidance for all phases of life's climb, en route to the final summit (Heaven).

How will you climb?

The Tree of Life

Since I’ve retired, I start most mornings sitting in my living room, sipping coffee, taking in the peacefulness of the day. It’s a refuge of sorts, where I can relax and let my mind wander.

On one particular day, recently, I became fixated by an old cherry tree, which sits outside my living room’s picture window. I thought about how it had survived the many intense storms and diseases over the years, and how, because of its deep roots and my husband’s intervention, it still stands healthy and strong (at its core).

Right now—during the winter months—the cherry tree doesn’t have the lush greenery hiding its imperfections, leaving us with a lifeless and barren impression. Yet, there’s still a mysterious beauty about it, because in reality, it may be leafless, but it isn't lifeless. It’s patiently waiting for spring, so it can burst forth into bloom again. 

It reminds me of times when I felt spiritually dormant, when I felt weighed down by the burden of an imperfect world.

Before I accepted the redemptive nature of God’s grace, there was hollowness in my spirit. I had built up so much inner turmoil, from a barrage of unexpected circumstances, my spirit was, basically, on life support. I felt unworthy, unloved, and far away from God.

But looking back over my life, I can see where God's hand of intervention not only had reached in to help endure the brokenness, but also the times where His pruning had helped shed the lifeless things to give energy to the new. And although I still fall dormant from time to time, my faith doesn’t allow me to linger there.

If we live long enough, we will all pass through wintery, barren seasons. And some will be much harsher than others. Perhaps you are passing through one of those seasons right now. If so, please don’t lose hope. Keep your roots deeply planted in the soil of God’s love. And even though you may be forever changed by this season you find yourself in, there will come a time of blooming again. You will survive this storm that life has blown your way, bringing with it the restoration of new life and new hope. Because—even in incidences where the darkness has masked the comprehension of His presence—God will never forsake us.

With Easter comes the onset of spring. It’s a season of new life, both spiritually and in nature.

The cherry tree analogy shows us the awakening of a tree, of how, each spring, it goes from a barren season of fruitlessness into a blooming and fruit-bearing one. It’s a beautiful transformation shown to us by God, through nature, that even though the tree was leafless; it wasn’t lifeless.

For us as believers, Easter is a time where we enter into the season of Lent. It's a time where we are reminded that Christ transformed the cross, from a symbol of death into the tree of life, and through His transformation, we celebrate an awakening of the soul; a time of reassurance that, upon His return, there will be a season of continuous blooming.