Of Coffee Beans and Big Fish

From the moment my head hit the pillow, I was anticipating it. Rain already falling in the late watch of the night secured the promise of showers certain to greet the early risers. Drifting off to a restful sleep, I could already smell the steaming cup of Autumn Blend awaiting my arrival in only a few short hours.

Autumn Blend is a seasonal intermingling of “artisan roasted beans” that has captured my caffeinated attention this fall. A hearty brew with an earthy undertone of chestnut and rose petals, it is sympathetic with the changing of the seasons. Rich in color and body, its aroma is nearly as captivating as its taste. So “sacred” has this blend become to me in the past few weeks, I dare not cover a steaming cup with a lid! This coffee must breathe and be experienced by as many senses as appropriately possible. Drinking even one cup has become precious to me.

Eyes beginning to close, I could see myself sitting in my usual spot. Slipping silently from the last few conscious moments of this day, I anticipated beginning my next watching out the window as the early moments of dawn illuminate the falling rain droplets off the window canopy. The week would begin on a beautiful note with a wonderful "cup of joe."

Darting between drops as a thick band of showers entered the area, I could see from the parking lot that my preferred table was unoccupied. Claiming my turf, I ordered a toasted “power bagel” (with butter) and a medium cup. Receiving my change, I made my way to the coffee bar and soon witnessed the wheels rolling off the beginning of my idyllic week… where is the Autumn Blend?

“Are you still brewing the Autumn Blend,” I ask inquiringly. “No, we’re out of Autumn Blend,” is the reply. “Out as in… ‘Out for the moment’, or...” I hopefully suggest. “No…out as in the distribution center has it back ordered and it will be several days or more before we have any available,” is the response from the cashier. “Oh... I see…” is my lament.

Funny how we become so conditioned by preference. Now on my third cup of Vanilla Hazelnut, I’m all the more convinced there is no better coffee for this season than my beloved Autumn Blend. “Why does it have to be this way?” I wonder to myself. “Don’t they realize how many lives are affected by the fact that some distribution clerk did not appropriately anticipate the demand? Didn’t anyone realize that I alone could personally account for a run on the season’s best coffee?” I finally concede as I pour that third cup of inferior java.

How appropriate my morning reading would include Jonah. Most are quite familiar with Jonah and the big fish incident but not as many recall Jonah and the whole vine thing. That incident in Jonah’s life doesn’t seem to get as much press coverage but is as telling about his general disposition as not wanting to go where God sent him.

After God and Jonah have their 3-day, 3-night “staff meeting” in the belly of the big fish, Jonah makes his way to Ninevah and proclaims the prophecy of the Lord – basically, “repent or die.” The people appropriately repent in sackcloth and ashes as Jonah waits east of the city to see if God is going to follow through on His promises. He does and Jonah is about as hacked about it as if his favorite coffee were missing from the coffee bar.

From his perch of perdition, Jonah is comforted by a quickly sprouting vine which shades his head from the heat of the day. As he becomes accustomed to its provided comfort, a worm attacks the vine and the plant dies as quickly as it grew. Jonah’s anger now grows beyond reason as God steps in to intervene.

“You are so concerned for that plant even though you did nothing to make it grow. It appeared one day and the next day it died,” God said. And I find myself curious as to whether the clarity of his anger struck Jonah. "I know why I am angry," he must be assured. "But is it right?" has got to be a perplexing issue for him.

I wonder how many times I become upset about inconveniences to my life but have no invested effort in their existence or outcome. Do I complain over the rain when I’d prefer sunshine? Do I revisit anger over a frequently encountered pothole on my morning commute while I’ve done nothing to help maintain the roadway? Do I pout when my favorite blend of coffee is unavailable, yet there are plenty of others from which to choose?

So my week didn’t start out as envisioned, but I’m seeking a new perspective. How about you? Is there another way of looking at matters of inconvenience which are ultimately well beyond our control?

Of Fall...

After what seemed a long summer, morning’s chill has finally come. The crisp snap in the pre-dawn air is a clear indicator fall has arrived and winter’s blast not long to come. While leaves still tenaciously hang at their perch, it is now only a matter of time before they blush into a chilly night’s hue and make their gentle descent to the ground. It is the season of slumber, of calm, of returning to the things that ground us. There is a subtle, yet profound, beauty in this time of year.

One of the great features of fall is watching things change. A gentle metamorphosis occurs right before one’s eyes. In a matter of weeks, what once was green and full of life makes a fantastic chromatic journey through the color spectrum and then quietly goes to tender sleep resting on earth’s floor. As long as time itself, the cycle repeats annually only to give way to the birth of spring pending fall’s chill again. It is a beautiful thing, really.

These are the days of fall. Football games, festivals, State Fairs and homecomings… a time when we come back to where we’ve come from. Different than the reunions typical of spring or summer, homecomings have a more natural and less formal feel about them. A migratory sense looms about this time of year as natural as a leaf returning to the ground. Bundled in our warm overcoats, perhaps for the first time of the season, homecoming calls us to root on the home team and refrain the alma mater one more time. It is a wonderful thing, really.

Homecoming kings and queens notwithstanding, homecoming is about getting back to where we started. It is about reacquainting ourselves with the familiar and coming close once again to the things dear to us. While it may be chilly on the outside, overall there is something warm and comfortable about coming home.

This is a great time of year. A time to touch base and reconnect; to let the leaves fall while remembering what is at the core of our being. This is a time to become quiet and return to that which deeply roots us. Fall is a beautiful time of year.

“We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body

and at home with the Lord.”

2 Cor. 5:8

The Death of Trees

Perhaps I should have seen it coming, though I never saw it coming. It was likely so obvious that had it been a hole in the ground, I would have walked right into it. In fact, it was a hole in the ground at one point.

My family and I moved into our current home about 26 months ago. We have a lovely home, situated in an ideal neighborhood surrounded by lovely park settings, walking trails, urban lakes and a golf course. Though far from mature in flora, the builders and HOA have cooperated with one another to quickly produce a visibly pleasing place to live (something should justify those HOA fees!).

Each home came fully equipped with featured landscaping in the front yards including three nice trees in the front and fully sodded backyards including one tree from which to begin landscaping in the back. Each tree had a one-year guarantee from the date of move-in. Within a year, we replaced three of the four trees!

Moving into our home in the middle of a season of drought in North Texas was tough on the lawns and trees in particular. Within that first year, three of our four trees met an unfortunate death to what we thought was shock. Two nice northern Red Oaks in the front and one Texas Live Oak in the back never saw the home's first anniversary. Responsibly, the builder replaced all three trees with Texas Live Oaks and for a season all seemed well.

Within only a few months however, I began to notice the tree in the back yard began looking "ill." I was careful to give it plenty of water and watched the tree closely. My neighbor's tree (also a Live Oak) seemed to be doing just fine. But in a matter of only a couple more months, that tree went from a beautiful "live" Live Oak to a sparsely leafed, "dead oak." The only consolation I received in its passing was that a small bird family had nested in it branches. Of course, by now we had met the one-year deadline (pardon the pun) and the builders considered themselves free from any responsibility in replace my now dead replacement tree.

Through the cold winter the tree stood its ground but was clearly done with life and though its branches reached toward the warmth of Springs new sun, the leaves never returned. Within a few months, the bony fingered branches figured against the bright blue sky and barked pealed away from the main trunk. The tree began returning to the ground from which it came.

I left that tree standing for some time as a sorrowful reminder of just how quickly death can take all things that have life (and breath. I suppose it could be argued that even trees breathe, as they give back oxygen to the created world around them).

An old friend of mine moved into the neighborhood a few months later, but into a section with older mature trees. In fact, his property looks like an old arboretum or something compared to ours. He has beautiful old trees all over his yard that tower into the sky. Some of the trees soar 50 feet or more into the sky. But in keeping with their contractual promise, the builders stuck a simple little "new" Northern Red Oak smack dab in the middle of my friend's new yard. It was the most ill placed tree anyone had ever seen. In the midst of all its towering neighbors and for the sake of having some semblance of a functional yard, the baby tree clearly had to go!

My friend was just going to throw it out until one day I suggested we could replace my dead tree with his "new" one. He agreed and through a comical escapade (something involving another friend's pickup truck, a furniture dolly, rope and a couple bungee cords -- a funny story better saved for another time) we hauled this lovely Northern Red Oak to my backyard (nearly a mile's driving distance away) and successfully transplanted the tree where the previously two had stood, and died.

I kept the trunk of the old tree not far from its once thriving growth spot as a kind of tombstone and epitaph in memoriam to both the former trees (that may have been a bad idea, though I'm not sure it would have ultimately made a difference). The young Red Oak stood tall and proud. Truth be told, it was the finest of all three of the trees that had now occupied the hole. Given all the work and sweat invested in this tree, I loved it! The tree and I had "bonded" (my friend and I had made a wonderfully funny memory to add to our collection) and I anticipated the day that tree would grow big and strong. I could clearly envision the day I would likely sip lemonade in its shade and sneak a hammock nap on a cool Spring afternoon. For a year now, things have gone according to plan. Until last week...

As I was mowing the lawn, I noticed the edges of all the leaves beginning to turn brown. Since it had now been a couple of weeks since our last rain, I thought it might need more water. However, the tree's Red Oak counterpart in the front yard is thriving in the same conditions. Now 2 1/2 years in its place, it is beginning to tower into the sky (the largest new oak on our street). The two Texas Live Oaks in the front are doing well also, which tells me the brown edges are not the function of a lack of water. Incredible rain totals this year (North Texas is now officially no longer in a drought) have provided plenty of water in which to grow. Plus, I've been careful to keep water on the tree in the dry weeks. There must be something else wrong, I began to think.

Yesterday, my wife left me a note saying, "Something is wrong with the tree in the back yard." And going out to investigate, I could not believe the change in only a week's time. There is something very wrong with our wonderful tree.

Today, I researched the matter and have determined it is terminal. Our sweet Red Oak could be completely dead by the end of the month and there is nothing I can do about it. There is a condition called Oak Wilt that will take the life of an oak tree quicker than anything else (it is the equivalent of a massive coronary in a human being). A fungus clogs the vascular system of oak trees preventing the flow of water and nutrients through the trunk and the tree dies a certain death. There is no known cure. (Read more about Oak Wilt) (On one of our church campuses, Oak Wilt has killed a number of historic trees that have been cut down and destroyed. Without such aggressive action, Oak Wilt can take out every tree in the area).

Beginning to mourn the loss of my young Red Oak tree, honestly today has been a sad day. I was proud of how that tree had stood its ground where the previous two had not. Carefully staked into the ground, the new tree had traveled a long way to our house (in a hilarious adventure) and it seemed to like the new location and warm evening sun. It had also weathered some powerful summer storms (a couple too-close-for-comfort lightning strikes that raised havoc on certain appliances and electronics in our house). But now, a simple, unstoppable fungus will ultimately be its demise. Today, I began to wonder if anything will ever grow in the hole?

I should have seen it coming. If I had only thought about the hole... but I never thought about the hole! It wasn't the tree, it was the soil! Duh! It seems so obvious now! If I had only known about the hole! It just kills me that I led the tree into a hole of death! What a really, really sad thing it is!

Have you ever thought about the soil into which your life is planted? So often, our lives (like beautiful trees) can be looking so good from one point of view and then, take a sudden turn for the worse. Sometimes, "stuff" invades our spiritual lives that is so destructive it is like a fungus. It works its way into our root system and chokes us out and over time, we just might die and by then, there is nothing we can do about it. Our spiritual vascular system is so compromised, we just wither up and die.

The Oak Wilt fungus doesn't manifest itself in visual signs on the tree until the life is already choked out of it. Now for our family, it is just a function of watching it continue to die. If I had only known about the hole! There were things we might could have done... evacuated the soil, chemically treated it and let the soil rest until the fungus was gone. Or perhaps I could have planted the tree in another hole far from the first one. But, instead we put a beautiful tree into a very dead hole.

What kind of soil are you living in? You may look fine to the world around you, but that may not be the best indicator of how spiritually healthy you are. There may be sickness "in the hole" that only you know about. If so, may I suggest a quick transplanting? By the time your "leaves" start showing the ill effects, it simply might be too late.

I'm going to miss that tree... imagine what it could have been.

Expectations...

"So what did you expect?" came the proposed question with a slight tone of condescension and disappointment that there wasn't more faith played out in the moment.

"I don't know..." was the drifting response.

So, what do we expect in any given circumstance? I realize certain personality types are more given to optimism while others will always deem the "glass half empty." Though typically an optimistic person, I still find myself "expecting the best" but "prepared for the worst." And I'm trying to change.

One of my favorite scenes from the Minor Prophets of Old Testament scripture is a picture of Jerusalem fully blessed by the Lord. In the span of a few verses, the prophet Zechariah speaks on behalf of the Lord and proclaims that He has a "strong love for Jerusalem" that burns like a fire. God promises to return to Jerusalem and living in it will see to it that "old men and old women will sit along the streets and the streets will be filled with boys and girls playing." Those who will be left alive to witness this beautiful picture will think something this wonderful will be "too difficult" for the Lord. But God is quick to respond saying, "but it is not too difficult for me." (For the entire picture, see Zechariah 8:1-23).

Jerusalem had been in exile for a long time at the hands of a powerful and oppressive people. When we find ourselves in a tough situation for a long period of time, it is often difficult to even think, let alone envision, something better than what we've known. But God is in the business of doing amazing things and it is true that "nothing is too difficult" for Him.

I'm learning when it comes to being in relationship with God, I can actually not only expect the good circumstances, but I can actually prepare for them with anticipation, knowing that God is painting an extravagant picture and true reliable blessings are just around the corner.

Do you have the faith to expect the very best and then live in anticipation of it?