The heart beats from contraction to rest and back to contraction again.
The seasons go from summer to winter and back to summer again.
Evening and morning are the first day, and the next, and the next.
Life goes from sadness to joy to sadness to joy. It does not seem to jump from joy to joy, with nothing in between. It does not trudge from sadness to sadness, with nothing in between.
The tides come in, and the tides go out. There is a rhythm to them, an order, a time for the high and the ebb, for the sadness and the joy, for the evening and the morning.
There is a time for everything, a time for every purpose under heaven. And God Himself is in the rhythm of all.
Sometimes it's difficult to see Him in a moment, in an event, in a situation. One of the spiritual direction questions is "Where is God in all this?" and sometimes that's a hard one to answer. In my sadness or my grief or my ebb tides I have real difficulty seeing Him or His actions or His movement. I take no comfort from someone in their joy or high tide times saying to me "all things work together for good" or something similar. I just can't see the goodness of God when all I see are empty stretches of sand. What if God is not in the empty stretches?
If God is not in the empty stretches, at least He is in the Rhythm, in the comings AND goings, in the weeping AND the mourning, in the flow of the seasons and in the flow of the tides, in the flow of tears of sorrow and in the flow of tears of joy.
Our story in God's loving care in this world is not about permanence, it is about movement. Our only permanence is in heaven. Until we get there it is about journey, about movement. Nothing lasts - neither joy nor sorrow, neither night nor day, neither height nor depth - only the rhythm. And it is in the Great Rhythm that we can most assuredly find the God that loves us - the Rhythm of Creation and Redemption and Sanctification, danced by Father and Son and Holy Spirit as they carry us, the children of God, in their arms into the home where we will rest forever in the rhythm of peace that is His heartbeat.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Still the Way it Used to Be
The Lodi Sweet Corn Festival closed on Saturday night, and it didn't take long for some of the concession trailers to close up and move off to their next gigs. By Sunday morning there were some noticeable gaps on the field, and throughout the day and into the night they wandered off, one by one, to parts unknown to the rest of us. Today there are just some guys taking down the rental tents, and one or two trailers left to haul away. Everything else in Lodi is back to the way it used to be before the Corn Festival, the way it will doubtless be until next year's Corn Festival.
I think that for the most part that's the way it is with churches through the years, too. We go along pretty much the same way we've always gone along. Every so often something exciting happens for a few days - maybe an anniversary celebration, maybe a consultation from somebody who'll show us how to do things "better," maybe a Vacation Bible School. But after all is said and done, after the VBS is cleaned up or the consultant packs up his PowerPoints and leaves town, we're pretty much the same church we were before.
Now here's a thought that might be completely out of the box - maybe it's OK that we're the same church we used to be! Maybe it's OK that we don't change much for an extended period of time!
Maybe it's OK for us to look at ourselves and celebrate what the Holy Spirit has called together, what the Holy Spirit has birthed into existence, what the Holy Spirit has taught and nurtured and grown over the years.
Maybe our church, our congregation, our community is doing just fine under the guidance of the Holy Spirit and doesn't really need the help of a life coach, a personal trainer, a plastic surgeon, or whatever the latest informercial from the latest church consultant is trying to sell us.
Maybe there really is no improving on what the Holy Spirit has done. Maybe there's only celebrating what He's done, what He's always done, what He'll always do. Isn't that the way it used to be?
I think that for the most part that's the way it is with churches through the years, too. We go along pretty much the same way we've always gone along. Every so often something exciting happens for a few days - maybe an anniversary celebration, maybe a consultation from somebody who'll show us how to do things "better," maybe a Vacation Bible School. But after all is said and done, after the VBS is cleaned up or the consultant packs up his PowerPoints and leaves town, we're pretty much the same church we were before.
Now here's a thought that might be completely out of the box - maybe it's OK that we're the same church we used to be! Maybe it's OK that we don't change much for an extended period of time!
Maybe it's OK for us to look at ourselves and celebrate what the Holy Spirit has called together, what the Holy Spirit has birthed into existence, what the Holy Spirit has taught and nurtured and grown over the years.
Maybe our church, our congregation, our community is doing just fine under the guidance of the Holy Spirit and doesn't really need the help of a life coach, a personal trainer, a plastic surgeon, or whatever the latest informercial from the latest church consultant is trying to sell us.
Maybe there really is no improving on what the Holy Spirit has done. Maybe there's only celebrating what He's done, what He's always done, what He'll always do. Isn't that the way it used to be?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
The Angry Whopper
The Angry Whopper has returned to Burger King.
An Angry Whopper is a standard Whopper sandwich with the addition of a few jalapeno pepper slices, some chipotle ranch sauce, and a slice of pepper jack cheese.
The receipt printout says "Whopper + Make Angry", and apparently this is how you make a Whopper sandwich angry (although as one who is familiar with a variety of spicy foods, I wouldn't call it "angry" exactly; I might call it "mildly irritated"). "Angry," you see, is not a word I would use to describe a sandwich.
"Angry" is God saying to Pharaoh "You WILL let MY people go, or I will take the lives of all your firstborn!"
"Angry" is God saying to Jericho "You WILL let My people enter the Promised Land, or I will knock your walls down!"
"Angry" is God saying to Satan "You are NOT the ruler of My people, and the blood of My Son is the price of their freedom!"
"Angry" is God saying to death and hell "You may NOT imprison My people anymore, and the Resurrection of My Son is His Victory over you forever!"
The "Angry" of God is the face He shows to Satan and death and hell that is the opposite side of the face of "Love" that He shows to us. He only shows us the face of "Love," and He only shows them the face of "Angry", and He never confuses the two.
And let us not be confused, either. When we look at God, we see nothing but "Love." When Satan looks at God, he sees nothing but "Angry."
And when we look at a Whopper, all we see is a sandwich, no matter how many jalapenos are on it!
An Angry Whopper is a standard Whopper sandwich with the addition of a few jalapeno pepper slices, some chipotle ranch sauce, and a slice of pepper jack cheese.
The receipt printout says "Whopper + Make Angry", and apparently this is how you make a Whopper sandwich angry (although as one who is familiar with a variety of spicy foods, I wouldn't call it "angry" exactly; I might call it "mildly irritated"). "Angry," you see, is not a word I would use to describe a sandwich.
"Angry" is God saying to Pharaoh "You WILL let MY people go, or I will take the lives of all your firstborn!"
"Angry" is God saying to Jericho "You WILL let My people enter the Promised Land, or I will knock your walls down!"
"Angry" is God saying to Satan "You are NOT the ruler of My people, and the blood of My Son is the price of their freedom!"
"Angry" is God saying to death and hell "You may NOT imprison My people anymore, and the Resurrection of My Son is His Victory over you forever!"
The "Angry" of God is the face He shows to Satan and death and hell that is the opposite side of the face of "Love" that He shows to us. He only shows us the face of "Love," and He only shows them the face of "Angry", and He never confuses the two.
And let us not be confused, either. When we look at God, we see nothing but "Love." When Satan looks at God, he sees nothing but "Angry."
And when we look at a Whopper, all we see is a sandwich, no matter how many jalapenos are on it!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Not Like It Used to Be
This is the weekend of the Sweet Corn Festival here in Lodi. A lot has changed in the twenty years we've lived down the street from the festival grounds.
Some hasn't - it's never been Ohio sweet corn they eat at this festival; it seems to come from Florida or California or some such place. Go figure. But I digress.
The field where the festival is held is large enough to hold two baseball fields or one elementary-school sized football field. Twenty-one years ago, when we first moved into Lodi, the field was about 1/3 carnival rides, about 1/3 wide-open field, and the rest a mix of commercial concessions and community spaces. Besides the sweet corn booth (run by the Chamber of Commerce), the Fire Department always had a chicken BBQ, the Boy Scouts ran a dunk tank, the Band Boosters had pop and hot dogs, the Rotary and the Ruritans had some little carnival games for the kids. There was a large tent where several local merchants could set up spaces for handing out fliers and goodies. Sometimes a church would have a space, as would the local hospital and one of the realtors. There was a sizeable stage for contests of corn-shucking and corn-eating and so forth, but the highlight for years was the Tug-of-War Tournament, which eventually gave way for several years to the Modified Garden-Tractor Pull Tournament. When we first moved in, it was all pretty cool.
Over the years it's gradually become pretty chintzy. This year we went over there last evening only for some ice cream and to watch the fireworks. This year the field is about half carnival rides and midway. The concessions are all operated by professionals with glitzy wagons who travel from fair to festival all summer. The local merchants who wanted to hand out goodies set up their own pop-up awnings. The stage was half the size it used to be. The wide-open field was clogged with people selling all kinds of cheap stuff. We had to look hard for the corn, but we finally found it. We had to look harder for the Tug-of-War, the Garden Tractor Pull, the Boy Scouts, the Rotary, the Ruritans, the Band Boosters - we didn't see any of them, because none of them were there.
We do know that it's become increasingly difficult to get volunteers to staff a booth at an event like this. Even folks who'll do a lot for the church (as long as it's at the church) aren't real quick to volunteer for blocks of time at a three-day event. So they tend to back off and eventually give up all together. This leaves the organizers (whoever they are) with asking "what do we need to do to keep this thing going?" and deciding that they need to bring in professionals and expand the money-making areas. Pretty soon the Chamber of Commerce is bringing in more money for the Village (I guess), but it just doesn't seem like it's that much fun any more.
All this is leading up to this about the church (local congregation, or in a more global sense): it may not be glamorous or glitzy, but it can be fun. It may hurt sometimes, but we can be forgiving. When we work together as if we love one another, as if we're family, we can overlook some things and let others slide.
And yes, sometimes in the church we get tired of doing the same things over and over again. And sometimes we think that we'd like to see if someone else would want to take over this or that job. And sometimes we look at some other church or program and see its flashy lights and get all dreamy-eyed and wonder "what if we had that."
And I wonder if in embracing these things in the church we run the same risk we seem to have succumbed to in the Lodi Sweet Corn Festival. In embracing the expansion and the glitz and the bright lights we've managed to push out the community. It always used to seem like Lodi's Sweet Corn Festival; this year it seems more like The Sweet Corn Festival That Happens to be in Lodi.
If we embrace all the success / program / growth paradigms for our churches, do we run the risk of pushing out the community that may still be there? And if so, where does that leave our congregations?
Where does that leave our District? Or our church body? Or the church at large?
Some hasn't - it's never been Ohio sweet corn they eat at this festival; it seems to come from Florida or California or some such place. Go figure. But I digress.
The field where the festival is held is large enough to hold two baseball fields or one elementary-school sized football field. Twenty-one years ago, when we first moved into Lodi, the field was about 1/3 carnival rides, about 1/3 wide-open field, and the rest a mix of commercial concessions and community spaces. Besides the sweet corn booth (run by the Chamber of Commerce), the Fire Department always had a chicken BBQ, the Boy Scouts ran a dunk tank, the Band Boosters had pop and hot dogs, the Rotary and the Ruritans had some little carnival games for the kids. There was a large tent where several local merchants could set up spaces for handing out fliers and goodies. Sometimes a church would have a space, as would the local hospital and one of the realtors. There was a sizeable stage for contests of corn-shucking and corn-eating and so forth, but the highlight for years was the Tug-of-War Tournament, which eventually gave way for several years to the Modified Garden-Tractor Pull Tournament. When we first moved in, it was all pretty cool.
Over the years it's gradually become pretty chintzy. This year we went over there last evening only for some ice cream and to watch the fireworks. This year the field is about half carnival rides and midway. The concessions are all operated by professionals with glitzy wagons who travel from fair to festival all summer. The local merchants who wanted to hand out goodies set up their own pop-up awnings. The stage was half the size it used to be. The wide-open field was clogged with people selling all kinds of cheap stuff. We had to look hard for the corn, but we finally found it. We had to look harder for the Tug-of-War, the Garden Tractor Pull, the Boy Scouts, the Rotary, the Ruritans, the Band Boosters - we didn't see any of them, because none of them were there.
We do know that it's become increasingly difficult to get volunteers to staff a booth at an event like this. Even folks who'll do a lot for the church (as long as it's at the church) aren't real quick to volunteer for blocks of time at a three-day event. So they tend to back off and eventually give up all together. This leaves the organizers (whoever they are) with asking "what do we need to do to keep this thing going?" and deciding that they need to bring in professionals and expand the money-making areas. Pretty soon the Chamber of Commerce is bringing in more money for the Village (I guess), but it just doesn't seem like it's that much fun any more.
All this is leading up to this about the church (local congregation, or in a more global sense): it may not be glamorous or glitzy, but it can be fun. It may hurt sometimes, but we can be forgiving. When we work together as if we love one another, as if we're family, we can overlook some things and let others slide.
And yes, sometimes in the church we get tired of doing the same things over and over again. And sometimes we think that we'd like to see if someone else would want to take over this or that job. And sometimes we look at some other church or program and see its flashy lights and get all dreamy-eyed and wonder "what if we had that."
And I wonder if in embracing these things in the church we run the same risk we seem to have succumbed to in the Lodi Sweet Corn Festival. In embracing the expansion and the glitz and the bright lights we've managed to push out the community. It always used to seem like Lodi's Sweet Corn Festival; this year it seems more like The Sweet Corn Festival That Happens to be in Lodi.
If we embrace all the success / program / growth paradigms for our churches, do we run the risk of pushing out the community that may still be there? And if so, where does that leave our congregations?
Where does that leave our District? Or our church body? Or the church at large?
Monday, July 11, 2011
Seeds
Notes from a sermon from Sunday, July 10, 2011
Jesus said, "A sower went out to sow his seed. . . . ." (Matthew 13)
I don't know about you, but most of the field of my life seems to be doing pretty well these day (even if I do say so myself). Like the fields around where I live, which are green and growing thick with corn, I look at my field and heart and soul and think that it seems that I'm headed for that hundredfold yield that Jesus was talking about in the parable, and I'm pretty satisfied about that.
Of course, at the edge of my field is a drainage ditch to catch the runoff from the road. The ditch is full of weeds and reeds and cattails and ditch lilies, and I try to be careful not to let any of the corn fall in among those weeds and reeds and cattails and ditch lilies when I'm planting, but some just does and it doesn't have a chance at growing. It's outnumbered, as Jesus said, by the "cares and worries of life." I know that elswhere God's Word says I should "cast all your anxieties on Him, for He cares for you," but I do have some anxieties that I'm just not ready to cast on Him; and some that have just come up that I still need to fuss over a bit; and some that I've cast onto Him that I still check back with Him and make sure He's handling them to my satisfaction. But, hey, it's just a ditch and it isn't very wide compared to my big green field, so I think I'm doing pretty well, all things considered. How about you?
There are some rocks in my field, too. Not a lot, to be sure, but some. And not little pea-gravel rocks, either, but pretty good fist-sized ones. Oh, for the most part I believe and trust that God loves me, that the Father is wondrously fond of me, that Jesus delights in me, that the Holy Spirit is pleased as punch about me. I am convinced that He is that way about all His children. I am convinced that He is good all the time (and that all the time, He is good). But my faith that God is good and wonderful and merciful and gracious struggles to survive when it comes up against the fist-sized rocks that say "but what about the child that just died because he was locked in the hot car?" and "what about the child that was repeatedly abused by her grandfather?" and "what about the family that all died in that car accident?" and the "what abouts?" just keep on coming. Those rocks can be mighty big and they can pile up pretty fast, and if I'm not careful they can do some serious damage to the crop. But, hey, maybe I don't have to worry because, you know what, as long as I keep them in one part of the field I'm OK, right? How about you?
And then there's the path. Paths happen in fields because they're convenient ways of getting from one place to another. They happen because the grass or weeds or crops are beaten down from repeated travel by foot or wagon wheel or tractor tire, beating again and again in the same place until the plants just give up in frustration. They're the places in the field of my life that I just go back to again and again and again, without fruit, without resolution, the places that are barren and downtrodden and fruitless but that are easy to get to, easy to see, easy to stand on. I go back to them time after time after time for no apparent reason, and even I wonder why (and so does everyone else around me) - nothing is accomplished when I go there. I "comfort myself" thinking that it's just a small part of the otherwise fruitful field - and then I wonder if I'm really comforting myself - or am I fooling myself?
If I were a true farmer, would I be satisfied with having "most" of my land in productive field, with having "some" path, "some" stones, "some" weeds? Or would I not rest until I had as much land as possible in productive field, and as little path as possible, as few stones and weeds as possible? I think the latter. And I also believe that the Holy Spirit is a wondrous, loving, eager, excited, energetic Gardener, who loves me (and you) enough and loves His work enough to jump at our smallest prayer, to come into the fields of our hearts to work with all His tenderness and grace and mercy to pull weeds and clear out rocks and break up paths and increase the crops so that the fruit of His love can overflow in our lives wherever we turn, wherever we look, wherever we move.
That's why He plants the seed in us in the first place.
Jesus said, "A sower went out to sow his seed. . . . ." (Matthew 13)
I don't know about you, but most of the field of my life seems to be doing pretty well these day (even if I do say so myself). Like the fields around where I live, which are green and growing thick with corn, I look at my field and heart and soul and think that it seems that I'm headed for that hundredfold yield that Jesus was talking about in the parable, and I'm pretty satisfied about that.
Of course, at the edge of my field is a drainage ditch to catch the runoff from the road. The ditch is full of weeds and reeds and cattails and ditch lilies, and I try to be careful not to let any of the corn fall in among those weeds and reeds and cattails and ditch lilies when I'm planting, but some just does and it doesn't have a chance at growing. It's outnumbered, as Jesus said, by the "cares and worries of life." I know that elswhere God's Word says I should "cast all your anxieties on Him, for He cares for you," but I do have some anxieties that I'm just not ready to cast on Him; and some that have just come up that I still need to fuss over a bit; and some that I've cast onto Him that I still check back with Him and make sure He's handling them to my satisfaction. But, hey, it's just a ditch and it isn't very wide compared to my big green field, so I think I'm doing pretty well, all things considered. How about you?
There are some rocks in my field, too. Not a lot, to be sure, but some. And not little pea-gravel rocks, either, but pretty good fist-sized ones. Oh, for the most part I believe and trust that God loves me, that the Father is wondrously fond of me, that Jesus delights in me, that the Holy Spirit is pleased as punch about me. I am convinced that He is that way about all His children. I am convinced that He is good all the time (and that all the time, He is good). But my faith that God is good and wonderful and merciful and gracious struggles to survive when it comes up against the fist-sized rocks that say "but what about the child that just died because he was locked in the hot car?" and "what about the child that was repeatedly abused by her grandfather?" and "what about the family that all died in that car accident?" and the "what abouts?" just keep on coming. Those rocks can be mighty big and they can pile up pretty fast, and if I'm not careful they can do some serious damage to the crop. But, hey, maybe I don't have to worry because, you know what, as long as I keep them in one part of the field I'm OK, right? How about you?
And then there's the path. Paths happen in fields because they're convenient ways of getting from one place to another. They happen because the grass or weeds or crops are beaten down from repeated travel by foot or wagon wheel or tractor tire, beating again and again in the same place until the plants just give up in frustration. They're the places in the field of my life that I just go back to again and again and again, without fruit, without resolution, the places that are barren and downtrodden and fruitless but that are easy to get to, easy to see, easy to stand on. I go back to them time after time after time for no apparent reason, and even I wonder why (and so does everyone else around me) - nothing is accomplished when I go there. I "comfort myself" thinking that it's just a small part of the otherwise fruitful field - and then I wonder if I'm really comforting myself - or am I fooling myself?
If I were a true farmer, would I be satisfied with having "most" of my land in productive field, with having "some" path, "some" stones, "some" weeds? Or would I not rest until I had as much land as possible in productive field, and as little path as possible, as few stones and weeds as possible? I think the latter. And I also believe that the Holy Spirit is a wondrous, loving, eager, excited, energetic Gardener, who loves me (and you) enough and loves His work enough to jump at our smallest prayer, to come into the fields of our hearts to work with all His tenderness and grace and mercy to pull weeds and clear out rocks and break up paths and increase the crops so that the fruit of His love can overflow in our lives wherever we turn, wherever we look, wherever we move.
That's why He plants the seed in us in the first place.
Lost Soles
Not to spiritualize everything, but I lost my sole at Hinckley Hills Golf Course today. Then I lost my left sole.
My son Matt and I took the morning off today to go golfing, which we do only every other year. For us, a good round of golf is when we find more golf balls than we lose. Today, though, I lost my sole at the green of the fifth hole and two holes later I lost my left sole.
I was wearing some pretty nice hiking boots that I bought some years ago for Boy Scout camp and hikes and other such occasions, back when Matt was in Scouts and High School and when I was more energetic. They were still in pretty good shape, and I'd worn them in the past on the golf course. Not really golf shoes, of course, but the treads generally do a passable job as soft cleats, and they're pretty comfortable to walk in. Except that they were pretty old to begin with and the last time I'd used them was the last time we'd golfed, and they were more out of shape than I was. To make a long story short, the strain was too much for them and the soles just worked their way off the shoes before we got to the end of the nine holes.
This all reminds me of a conversation I had with some teenagers a couple of years ago about spiritual disciplines and the Spiritual Armor in Ephesians 6. One of the kids opined that he didn't need to practice spiritual disciplines because God would provided him with the Spiritual Armor when he needed it. I suggested that the football coach wasn't likely to just grab somebody from the stands, throw some equipment on him and pitch him into the big game without practicing or learning some plays first. That made some sense to some of the others, but not to the first guy. He stuck to his guns, insisting that God would give him the weapons he would need when the time came.
Well, I'm sure He will. But this much I know: it wasn't God's fault that I didn't check my shoes carefully this morning to make sure they were in adequate shape for a couple of hours of golf-course hiking. It won't be God's fault if I don't fill my gas tank before I run out of gas on the side of the road. And it won't be God's fault if I'm caught with my pants down in a spiritual crisis because I've been lax or lazy with my prayer life, or my life in His Word, or my attendance at His Sacraments or among the community of His believers.
My son Matt and I took the morning off today to go golfing, which we do only every other year. For us, a good round of golf is when we find more golf balls than we lose. Today, though, I lost my sole at the green of the fifth hole and two holes later I lost my left sole.
I was wearing some pretty nice hiking boots that I bought some years ago for Boy Scout camp and hikes and other such occasions, back when Matt was in Scouts and High School and when I was more energetic. They were still in pretty good shape, and I'd worn them in the past on the golf course. Not really golf shoes, of course, but the treads generally do a passable job as soft cleats, and they're pretty comfortable to walk in. Except that they were pretty old to begin with and the last time I'd used them was the last time we'd golfed, and they were more out of shape than I was. To make a long story short, the strain was too much for them and the soles just worked their way off the shoes before we got to the end of the nine holes.
Well, I'm sure He will. But this much I know: it wasn't God's fault that I didn't check my shoes carefully this morning to make sure they were in adequate shape for a couple of hours of golf-course hiking. It won't be God's fault if I don't fill my gas tank before I run out of gas on the side of the road. And it won't be God's fault if I'm caught with my pants down in a spiritual crisis because I've been lax or lazy with my prayer life, or my life in His Word, or my attendance at His Sacraments or among the community of His believers.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Stumps
We had a tree service come this week to take care of a big old apple tree in our yard and several saplings that had grown up from seeds from that box elder down in the back corner. Some of those saplings were 6 inches across at the base, and most of them were tucked in a line of spruce trees 3/4 of the way down the yard toward the railroad tracks. So the tree guys came in and cut down all the saplings and the old apple tree, leaving stumps.
Yesterday I went around with orange paint and sprayed all the stumps so I could see them and avoid them with the lawn mower. Today the tree guy came back and ground up the apple tree stump, and next week he'll come back and grind the rest of the stumps.
Because, you see, those saplings needed to be got out from the tree line. They had overgrown the treeline, made it impossible to get the mower in under those spruces, and all kinds of weeds and other stuff had grown in around them (including poison ivy). Now that those saplings are cleared out, it's easy enough to take care of the rest of the undergrowth. Except, of course, that I have to avoid the stumps with the lawnmower until the tree guy comes back to get the stumps, too.
And that's just how it is with us, too, isn't it? Whether you call them "sins" or "dysfunctional behaviors" or whatever else you want to call them, sometimes the little sins would be relatively easy to be rid of except that we let bigger sins take over. Then, because we don't get rid of the bigger sins, we can't get rid of the little ones easily, either. And if we don't get rid of the big ones completely, if we just cut them down, there are still the stumps, and we spend a lot of time and energy trying to avoid them. Best thing to do is have somebody dig them out completely.
I suppose I could take a whack at it, but I'm sure it would be a long and ardous task for me and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get the whole stump / sin. I just need to get off my high horse and call the tree guy / the Tree Guy.
Yesterday I went around with orange paint and sprayed all the stumps so I could see them and avoid them with the lawn mower. Today the tree guy came back and ground up the apple tree stump, and next week he'll come back and grind the rest of the stumps.
Because, you see, those saplings needed to be got out from the tree line. They had overgrown the treeline, made it impossible to get the mower in under those spruces, and all kinds of weeds and other stuff had grown in around them (including poison ivy). Now that those saplings are cleared out, it's easy enough to take care of the rest of the undergrowth. Except, of course, that I have to avoid the stumps with the lawnmower until the tree guy comes back to get the stumps, too.
And that's just how it is with us, too, isn't it? Whether you call them "sins" or "dysfunctional behaviors" or whatever else you want to call them, sometimes the little sins would be relatively easy to be rid of except that we let bigger sins take over. Then, because we don't get rid of the bigger sins, we can't get rid of the little ones easily, either. And if we don't get rid of the big ones completely, if we just cut them down, there are still the stumps, and we spend a lot of time and energy trying to avoid them. Best thing to do is have somebody dig them out completely.
I suppose I could take a whack at it, but I'm sure it would be a long and ardous task for me and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get the whole stump / sin. I just need to get off my high horse and call the tree guy / the Tree Guy.
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