Split Logs

He was a friend of a friend, but, after years of meeting on Friday mornings in a men’s spiritual support group, he became a friend of my own. Well-traveled, he spoke of terrain I had not yet reached, described views I had not yet seen. As if standing on the side of the trail clapping his hands, he encouraged me to travel on, to see within what I couldn’t see on my own. 

“You can do this.”

“You can rise up and carry on.”

           “God loves you more than you know.”

                        “If you don’t believe me, read the Bible.”

Today, I received word he died, and my thoughts are not only of my appreciation for his friendship but my dismay over letting our opposing political views come between us. Like a wedge in a log, his love and my hatred for the same person spit us apart, and I sit here this morning mourning not only his death but the lost days of friendship. 

The things which divide us seem to have overtaken the things which unite us - as neighbors, as Christians, as Americans, as citizens of the world. How you choose to respond to the pandemic, which news channel you watch, how you worship, if you worship, what state or region of the country you come from, what school or team you root for . . . the wedges to split us apart seem endless. Maybe it’s always been this way, but it seems worse than ever. 

Now, in all my self-righteous indignation, I sit on a Friday morning alone. It must be that way this morning, but it didn’t have to be for the last two years. What a silly and unnecessary loss.  

A Mighty Wind

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s a calm, clear day. From the safety of a mountain home, I look out at the peaks and valleys and am fooled by the bright sun and clear mountain air. The flags on the deck, though,  are dancing wildly in the wind. Because of them, I know wind is swirling all around me. Like dust that reveals a ray of light, it takes something like a flag to help me “see” the wind. 

Too often, the same is true for my spiritual life. I look out from the safety of wherever I happen to be and think I see things as they are. I’m deceived by appearances. Too often, I’m fooled into thinking things are as they appear, but, then, I’m given the gift of something that awakens me to the mighty wind swirling around me.

The Hebrew people had a name for the mighty wind. They called it, “Ruach,” and believed God was with them in such a wind. Christians also believe God is present in the wind. They call it the Holy Spirit. Like my experience in the mountains, I don’t see the wind until something is placed before me. Suddenly, the wind causes whatever it is to dance. It may be an event that speaks to my heart, a note or call from a friend at just the right time, or a comment made as if speaking directly to me. 

The mighty wind makes itself known through the most unlikely “flags.”  Because of them, and through them, we’re able to see the wind that surrounds us and know that we’re not alone. In this unusual time, looks can be deceiving. Looking out from our homes, we may think we see things as they are, but there’s a wind. There’s always a wind. It just takes a flag to make us see it. 

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I wanted to pick up the phone this morning, but you wouldn’t have picked up. I wanted to send flowers, but your address now belongs to someone else. What I would give to hear you dismiss the holiday as some Hallmark scam while knowing you still love that I called.

I recently came across a picture of you and me. You looked so young. It’s funny, I never thought of you as young. You were my mother. You were the one who had all the answers, the one who made the rules, the one who knew how to put the Band Aid on just right. The picture made me realize you were just figuring this mothering thing out as you went along like the rest of us parents. I give thanks for all the times you got it so right and completely understand the times you didn’t. It’s hard. 

I know I’m supposed to remember all the big moments, but I always think about the smell of your perfume, the sound of your bracelets, the feel of your hug, and the words you whispered only to me. 

Today, I can only reach inside to find pieces of you. I just hope those who still have their moms will make the most of this day. How I wish I could change places with them.

Say hello to Dad for me. See you one day soon.

Me