It was a beautiful early Spring afternoon a number of years ago. I thought it would be the perfect day to burn some paper trash in the barrel behind the house. Having just come through some challenging life situations, this time served as a moment of deep reflection and prayer as I enjoyed the country surroundings.
After getting the fire going, I went inside to get some more paper. A glimpse out the back window revealed the field ablaze and quickly spreading. Urging my wife to call the fire department, I flew out the door. Straight to the garden hose I ran, turned on the water, dragged it to the edge of the fire, and squeezed the nozzle only to find there was no water pressure. Next came plan B: scurry to the shed for a shovel. The shed was locked. So, I turned to the house searching for the key, ran to the shed, unlocked the door, grabbed the shovel, ran to the fire, and started beating at the flames with all my might.
The pattern continued: beat the flames, flee from the smoke to catch my breath, beat the flames, flee to catch my breath... The flames continued spreading toward the barn. I prayed, swung my shovel, and prayed some more. Eventually, with much of the field consumed, the fire truck arrived, and the firefighters extinguished the remaining flames.
As the excitement waned, I walked around to inspect the damage. The field remained completely charred and reduced to stubble (did I mention that this happened on Ash Wednesday?). Thankfully, the barn was spared, but only by a margin of less than two feet surrounding three of its sides.
In a strange way, I found myself identifying with that field as I too was feeling burned out, burned up, and burned by some life circumstances from the preceding months. As the Spring continued, the field began showing glimpses of life as tiny green nubs started pushing their way through the stubble. At the same time, God's gentle presence continued healing and growing me.
As summer approached, my brief six month interim position was coming to a close. Although I was experiencing a great healing within, the stress was increasing due to the uncertainty of the very near future. The field continued to grow greener and taller. Eventually, the plants revealed themselves as bright orange day lily blossoms covered the previously desolate backyard.
The unexpected Ash Wednesday observance served as the start to a beautiful parable of my then recent events. Its meaning came as I reflected upon Jesus' words when He said, “Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well" (Luke 12:27-31).
God has a unique way of taking the damaged and desolate things of this life and making them into something beautiful as we experience God's loving care.
For more reflections on this theme, please click on "Destinatum -- Steve's Art Gallery" to the right.
