Flashlights

The camper left the warmth and security of the campfire to walk down toward her tent. Holding her flashlight tight, she shone its light ahead, revealing the rocks, bushes, and trees, as well as a portion of the path. While trying to focus on what she could see, her mind wandered to what might be out there, on her right, left, or beyond the light ahead. Such thoughts almost caused her to turn around, but she focused on what was before her and successfully made it to her tent.

I wish I was as disciplined as she.  I, too, have a tent, a place toward which I am headed, and have been given a flashlight to help me get there, but, too often, I try to see beyond the light I’ve been given and worry about what I cannot see. Even though I can see all manner of rocks, bushes and trees, as well as a portion of a path, I spend much of my time longing to see more than the light is revealing and worry about what might be on my left and right. It causes me to want to turn around, to quit the journey.

It is written that we should let God’s grace be sufficient. Another way to say that might be, let the light from the flashlight be enough for the journey. Use it to see your next step, but don’t worry about things you cannot see or control ahead. Whatever your tent may be - a job, a relationship, a life’s purpose, a spiritual destination – we’ve been given all the light we need to get there. By taking the next step, we move forward. The good news is that as we move forward, so does the light. 

The Old Man's House

I spent the morning in the old man’s house. Awakened by creaks in the weathered floorboards, I lay in bed taking in the room surrounding me. His books, almost exclusively theological, were neatly assembled in the bookcase, with two others resting on the table beside his chair, as if put down for a moment. Paintings of sailboats, his other passion, adorned the walls, complemented by colonial antiques. The smell of New England authenticity filled my soul, and I found it hard to believe he’d been gone for over a year.

With my cup of coffee, and the stereo tuned to his favorite classical music station, the liturgical procession began. From room to room, I wandered and paused, recalling moments both happy and sad, and it was as if he were present, along with the others for whom this place is home.

Later that morning, as I sat in a 130 year-old summer parish, I heard the floorboards announce the arrival of other worshipers. Pews creaked as we took our places beside one another, and could feel the presence of those from generations past. On the walls and in the windows were pictures depicting the stories, some happy others not, of our common faith. The altar was prepared, and the Bible and other books lay just where they were left at the end of last summer. Old wood filled the space with a smell far more inspirational than any incense, and, as I breathed deeply, I gave thanks for the sense of home.

Singing familiar hymns, and reading Biblical passages, it occurred to me I was in church for the second time that morning.

Trash Day

On my walk this morning, I noticed two trash cans pulled to the curb, one for recycling, the other trash. Both were overflowing and allowed me to see that in the recycling can were items that could not be recycled, and in the trash items that could. While the clear violation of trash protocol invited me to get my deputy-of-the-frickin’-universe hat on, I continued walking and realized I am as guilty as the home I passed, I just do it with different cans.

Inside of me, I have two garbage cans, one for trash, the other recycling. Like my neighbor, I put the wrong things in the cans. In the trash, too often I put mistakes and other experiences which could be recycled, used for another purpose. If recycled, they could teach important lessons for the future, but, in my grief, sadness and/or embarrassment, I throw them into the trash as quickly as I can.

So, too, I sometimes recycle things that should be thrown away. Maybe it’s a story I’ve told for too long about myself or another, a memory I’ve held onto (or that’s held onto me) forever. Whatever it is, such trash needs to be seen for what it is and put in the other can. In other words, some things just need to be thrown away.

Imagine if we learned to sort our trash better! We would know a new freedom and a new happiness, because we learned to throw trash away. We would also not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door upon it, because we learned to recycle.