Conversation Point

God's Paper Cups

My mom sold our family home last year, the one in which I grew up, so when I make my visit this fall I will only be doing a drive-by visitation of the old homestead. Fortunately, the people who bought the house rehabbed it and had it posted on the web with a local realtor for a few months. That satisfied my curiosity about how the place looked, and it was pleasing to note how they had cared for it. Hopefully, whoever now lives there will love it. My hope, too, is that they will keep the lovely birch tree that has stood proudly in the front yard for over thirty-five years.

The property on which the house stands, while small, is standard for the neighborhood. What made it special for our family was the bounty my parents created, bringing in pear, apple and plum trees, as well as asparagus, raspberries, rhubarb and Concord grapes, all of which we enjoyed, each in their seasons of plenty. A summer garden grew green beans, onions, tomatoes, carrots and cucumbers. What we didn't eat fresh or share with friends was canned by my mother, something a lot of moms did then, even though the process has fallen out of fashion with my generation. I appreciated the plums and raspberries most.. I have also retrofitted my honor for the richness of the past with respect for what asparagus and rhubarb cost at my local market.

While I remember the whole of the backyard bounty with fondness, the trees did more than feed our bodies. They also fed our souls. What is better on a warm Wisconsin summer afternoon than to welcome a tree's imagination into your own, establishing a whole world within the boundaries of its shade and strong branches? Perhaps they were simpler times and often I think that is a good thing, at least for me. I'm glad I still have the memories because the trees and the gardens are now gone.

Which brings me back to the birch tree out front.

I remember the day the it came home to us. A new Walgreens had opened downtown. As a promotion the store was giving away seedling birch trees in large paper cups. Our cup turned out to contain three trees, but only one was sturdy enough to withstand the traffic outside our front door. Once it took root it grew quickly and beautifully. It never was quite tall enough for me to sit under and dream, as I had done so often with the fruit trees out back, but it was graceful, peaceful in the way that only birches can be. Their cream-colored bark, interspersed with deeply brown knots, lend themselves to an especially romantic nature. Our birch became my birch as it grew tall outside my bedroom window. As it reached for the sky, so did I, and soon I left home for the rest of my life.

We all have these stories. Growing up and moving on is the stuff of which life is made. What caught my heart's attention at this time in my life isn't only the anticipated trip home and all the changes that have occurred in my absence. It is to recognize, again, that containers, boundaries, are good for us, but only for certain periods of time. If we stay stuck in them past their intended function we risk stunting our own growth and potentially our future lives. The birch tree would never have been if we had needed to keep it cloistered in its original holder, but by the same token the tree would never have made it to our door if not for the same cup. Nature gives us some clear-cut, obvious lessons, but they are usually a bit challenging to apply to human lives that usually have more gray areas, doubts and questions than seedling trees. Perhaps this idea is somehow related to human beings needing both roots and wings to flourish. Considering all these things my mind also wanders over to the inherent faith lessons.

First and foremost, I firmly believe that God didn't create me or anyone else to stay stuck romanticizing our childhood if we were fortunate enough to have one with some positive attributes. Starting life with a connection to creation unites us in a tangible fashion to our Creator. A whole lot of love from my parents went into that backyard too. They both remembered growing up during the Great Depression and wanted us to always feel we had good things in our lives that would not be taken away from us by economic downturns. God does provide in many and various ways.

Second, God urges us on to the rest of our lives in ways that only God can. Think you can find a nice, safe hole to crawl into, one in which God will never find you? Maybe for some length of time, but not usually forever. Crawling into a hole means you have seen the light of day long enough to realize a step forward is indicated. Hiding, pretending we are not ready for what God has in store for us, only takes time away from what can be, from what we were created to be.

Occasionally, I've heard grown ups, people who have been blessed to have a faith perspective their whole lives, say they attend a particular church because it's a place that "gets back to the basics." To say that attitude confuses me is an understatement. I have asked one or two of these dear souls how their faith informs their lives, only to be met by a confused stare. My understanding is that their beliefs have not kept up with their ability to quote scripture, and they have numbed themselves to hearing God's voice and feeling God's nudging, loving spirit. Of course they are not lost forever, but they have dug themselves a very deep home, one that may take some time and experience out of which to pull themselves.

Third, God is patent as we dig ourselves out of the holes we all inevitably dig for ourselves, always hoping more for us than we ever hope for ourselves. God has a whole lot of paper cups available for us, some to grow out of and some to grow into. The fitting rooms for trying them on are quite spacious, too, and have very forgiving mirrors.

posted by Cory L. Kemp @ 3:48 PM