nothing gold can stay

"Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay." -Robert Frost

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My kid recently checked out this interesting book from the library. 

 

It's titled Astonishing and Extinct Professions (89 Jobs You Will Never Do). It gives succinct descriptions of long-forgotten vocations, such as Whalebone Rippers, Armpit-Hair Pluckers (ouchie), Waker-Uppers, and so on (if you're looking for a gift to give a nephew, niece, or young cousin in your life, it's informative and enjoyable to read).

Three of the professions caught my ear as the book was read to me: the roles of 'Wailing Women (Professional Mourners)'/'Mutes' and 'Funeral Jesters.' In many ancient civilizations, these pros were paid to come to a funeral, cry, pull out their hair, spread ashes on themselves. They often didn't know the person who'd died. Their wailing helped the family and loves ones of the deceased grieve more deeply. 

 

The mutes were men hired to stand silently with the mourners, to look somber. They walked with the funeral procession. They wore all black, except if a child had died -- then they wore white.

 

The funeral jesters would imitate the deceased person during the funeral procession (can you imagine??). The jester would re-tell their favorite jokes, act out important life moments. They humorously revived the dead for one last time. This would give the grieving a chance to reminisce about the departed in a playful, loving way.

 

"Wow," I thought when I heard this. This reminded me that past civilizations and customs have a lot to teach me. I'm sure you could learn a lot too. There's such wisdom in these ancient practices. 

 

How often do we truly make purposeful effort for remembering good times, and for celebrating good things? How well do we make purposeful effort -- truly, set time aside -- for thoughtfully mourning sad things? Always in a hurry to move past. Onward and upward. Gotta get to the next task, gotta keep moving. Always something else to do, somewhere else to be.

 

The train almost never makes an extended pit stop.

Maybe it should.

To stop to acknowledge a blessing reminds us we've been blessed. It also helps counter the weight we feel when a blessed thing comes to an end. 

 

To stop to acknowledge a sadness reminds us that, save the love of God, nothing lasts forever. As good things come, good things go, and that is the reality of life. Nothing gold can stay. 

What's a blessing you have that you would do you well to stop, to ponder more, and to thank God for it? Surely there's some blessing.

What's a sadness you have that you would do well to stop, to ponder more, and to ask God for comfort and hope in your time of sorrow? Surely there's some sadness.

 

We rejoice, and we weep. Many sadnesses mourn blessings that were never designed to last forever.

 

A time to mourn, and a time to dance. Many blessings are of sadnesses vanquished.

 

God doesn't ask us to experience any feeling in this life that he hasn't experienced. It fills our hearts with joy to feel the blessings. And it hurts like hell to bear the sorrows.

"We are not infinite
We are not permanent
Nothing's immediate
And we pretend like we're immortal" -Gone (Switchfoot)

Gone - Switchfoot

say the words (please, please)

Underneath my plate of Cheetos, grapes and cheddar popcorn, my sweaty hands fidgeted while I waited for the nearest chance in five years to say -- in person -- what I'd been praying and hoping and wishing to say to an old, estranged friend: 

"I'm sorry."

Five years of attempting to apologize, to connect with someone I'd hurt. A half decade of dialing this person's phone number, and it going straight to voicemail. Five years of unacknowledged emails. Five years of silence.

At the start of those five years, I felt affronted that my estranged friend would keep me two relational time zones away. After all, we'd hung out all the time in school. We were tight! An awesome, mutually beneficial, and loyal friendship withered to nothing.

 

But I remember,  after a particularly difficult conversation with this person, pridefully ending the call and declaring to myself, "I don't plan on reaching out to him ever again."

And I didn't. 

 

And my friend never called me again. That was that. 

Pride: it will rot the heart from the inside out.

Dry rot

With time, I had a humbler, clearer understanding on the mess I'd breezily created, and then left behind. It was part of my larger life direction that needed rerouting; it took me time to realize that God wished differently for my life. I began retroactively thinking of the people I had stepped on. Then a long, arduous road of repair, recovery, resurgence, and rejoicing took place. A dear friend referred to it as "one by one, those old clouds dissipating from your life."

I had forgiving to dispense, and forgiveness to seek.

[[Related tangent: One of my most appreciated songs of the past couple years is TS' 'All You Had To Do Was Stay.'  Sure, it's an ear worm. But there's deep roots below the pop sheen veneer. 

Its lyrical core describes an estranged relationship between two people who used to be close, a long time ago. One person who'd had taken the other for granted (but now might regret it), and one person who was taken for granted (and now might know it).

The reason I appreciate this song is because -- depending on the situation -- I've been one of both people. Maybe you have too.]]

So: five years after my starting this mess, this old friend and I were both attending at a mutual acquaintance's engagement party.

In the five years of trying to right this wrong, I'd come to bump up against some unmoving, yet grace-filled, requirements of forgiveness:

 

a) an apology should be unconditional, with no strings attached--

 

b) an apology should be specific, 

 

c) there's this encouraging word about forgiveness, 

 

d) whenever possible, the size and mode of the apology should be at least match the size and mode of the offense (i.e. if I were to hurt someone with something I said out loud, apologizing out loud is what's needed. Apologizing via text message, or DM, or through a friend isn't enough).

I wanted to apologize because I knew it was what my friend rightfully deserved. It was what I owed. Time, maturity, and the Lord did much to get my head straight.

Thankfully, I looked him in the eye, apologized for what I did, the mess I willfully made, and how I had been. My friend apologized too, and we smiled, and hugged. 

 

That was that.

It was a relief to turn that heavy, heavy page.

Who's out there to whom you owe an apology? 

 

What faces, or smiles, come to your mind as you read this? 

 

If you're trying to reach out to correct a past wrong of yours, but you're being stiff-armed, keep pursuing the chance to apologize.

 

It's worth it, regardless of how they receive it.

 

We've all been there, on both sides of the apology.

"Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." -Ephesians 4:32

pine cones, seeds, and where we let go

When he was a kid, a buddy of mine went on a summer family vacation, driving halfway across the country. His younger brother picked up a conifer cone (fancy name for pine cone) from a roadside stop somewhere in South Dakota. When they got back home, his younger brother buried the pine cone in their yard, and eventually forgot about it.

In the springtime, a shoot of an evergreen shrub burst several feet out of the ground where his kid brother had buried that pine cone. It's not unusual, right? 

Yet the growth for sure astonished the family ... because it burst from the ground in the springtime ... nine YEARS after the family had returned from that trip.

Nine years. That's a decent stretch of time. Do you remember what you did, on this day, nine years ago? Unless you did something important, probably not. I sure don't. 

Jesus tells a story about someone who spreads seed to grow crops (Jesus later explains what the story means). I appreciate that this story incorporates growing seeds.

Growing from seed takes time. 

Growing from seed resists any allure of overnight success. 

It refuses to cooperate with our timelines; we have to work with its timelines. If you want decent crops in the fall, you gotta plant in the spring. No one plants in the late summer, to reap a harvest that fall.

But then again, there's only so much we can do. We can put the seed into the ground, but we can't force the seed to germinate. We must respect its timeline. We can't impose our own schedule onto it, of how and when we think it should grow.

Sometimes, when we try to help out others, we expect that once we provide help, we'll see some immediate changes. We become discouraged when we don't see it. Eventually, we stop checking the spot where we planted a seed.

Or, we focus that same expectation inward. We expect that once we learn of some better, more fruitful way to live life, we should be able to immediately apply it, and live differently about everything. We frustrate ourselves when we don't instantly show marvelous growth. We write ourselves off as a lost cause, or just slower than the rest.

Seeds take time. 

Repeat after me: seeds take time.

The grace-filled reality is that while you will forget about what seeds you helped plant with others, God doesn't forget. You'll forget about what was planted in your soil for good, but God will not. Growth requires seeds. Growing from seed takes time. It will not be hurried.

When you feel like you're in a hurry, or you're discouraged, remember this parable, and the time it takes to grow from seed. Ask God to help you adopt his rhythms of growth and grace.