Pastoral Thought--August 31

Yesterday afternoon, as I thought more about my grandparents house (which was something I referenced in the message), I remembered another story from my childhood that seems applicable to our context and struggles today. . . 

My parents build a house out in the country when I was in grade school. It was build near a large, muddy, lake with ample room to run and play. With elderberry bushes flanking the property, the house was wonderful. One summer in the side yard I tried to dig a hole to center of the earth—it seemed like a good idea at the time. (I made it about 4 feet before I got too tired and thirsty). It was a lovely brown sided home with a garage as part of the home. In the garage my father hung a small baseball hoop for me. For hours I would go into that space and play. I could make a shot from almost any angle in that garage consistently. It was heaven on earth. I could run, jump, yell, or whatever, and no one ever saw me or heard me—truly a boy’s fantasyland. 

But one day, I flung the ball up into the ceiling truces—laughing and yelling as I did it. The ball bounced around like a pinball game before ending up on the roof of the porch which was adjacent. The ceiling truces, extended over a covered porch. My ball was gone. I warily went into the house and announced my dilemma. . . I wanted the ball, but I did something that was not advisable. My father was. . . not pleased. . . to say the least. 

He marched me right out of the house and over to the extension ladder, which rested on the wall, and said, “well you threw it. . . go get it.” 

The color in my face I am sure fell away. Eyes became as big as half-dollars. I have always been afraid of heights (still am if I am honest). Do not even ask me to go on the roof of the manse (I will make Emma do it). To make this worse, the ladder was sitting straight up against the wall of the house. He did not angle it; he did not move it. I was told to “Go on.” I cried. . . But slowly started climbing and looking over my shoulder to see if he was actually going to make me do it. About half way up, I was almost hysterical. But he was right behind me, telling me to keep moving. I remember thinking, “I’m not ready for this.” 

Now before you get too angry with my father for making me climb a dangerous ladder over a concrete floor at a 90 degree angle, remember these were ceiling truces that ran over my head. Even if the ladder fell backwards, which it wouldn’t, it would only fall a few inches before it caught the truce and sprung back into its home. . . that’s why he put it there. The ladder would never fall over. He was behind me so that even if I fell, he would catch me easily. He could simultaneously grab the studs on the wall and pull us back into place should the need arise. I was safe; I just thought that I couldn’t do this. 

With tears making it hard to see, I got the ball and then he showed me how safe I truly was—even though I thought he was being cruel at the time. He knew I was ready for this and that I was safe. (Truth be told, that place became another safe haven for me and my friends to sit and play). 

I wonder, when was the last time that you told God that you weren't ready for this conversation, or that task, only to find out, that on the other side of it, God had everything perfectly mapped out for you? You were safe, if you just decided to keep climbing and trust the one who cares for you?? Maybe you are ready for that struggle, or that conversation, or that choice. . . maybe your Heavenly Father is right there to catch you should anything threatening come along. . . 

Blessings

Rev. Derek