At Home on the Range
My writing rhythm has been off. It’s because I’ve had such a broad range of circumstances and experiences the last couple of weeks.
My oldest daughter’s wedding was Saturday, November 9th. Two days before her outdoor wedding we had what the farmers called “a hundred-year rain.” In a day, it rained somewhere between 9.5” and 11.5”, depending on who you ask. Rivers and creeks were overflowing. Roads were washing out. We were prayerfully scrambling! Yet, the wedding was extraordinary. The weather was perfect. She was a gorgeous bride. Her dress was magnificent, though her real beauty came from the joy and gratitude bubbling forth from her throughout the day. I was honored to officiate and proud to be her daddy. It was a mountaintop experience. As each element of her day fit perfectly into place, I sensed God’s favor and blessing on their marriage.
Then the wedding follow-up began. After taking a few days off from counseling, our schedules were packed. We spent our days serving as many clients as we could and our nights unloading props, repacking decorations, washing and folding table clothes... Have you ever tried folding large round table clothes?
We did all that while seeking to serve a close friend in severe crisis, dealing with family mental illness that chose this week to leave the reservation, and experiencing a new level of tired.
Then, early Saturday, November 16th, my wife, Jo, lost her mom. From Saturday to Saturday, we went from the mountaintop to the laborious start down the mountain to an emotional free fall into the valley of the shadow of death. This week, we are preparing for her memorial service and walking through the gamut of loss, grief, relationships, memories, thoughts, discussions, decisions… In less than two weeks, we have experienced a sweeping range of circumstances, thoughts, and emotions.
Last night, while Jo was making decisions with her siblings, I stepped outside my brother-in-law’s farmhouse to enjoy the fresh air and promptly stepped in goat poop. As I glared at the mess on the bottom of my boot and considered the words on the tip of my tongue, I contemplated my need for growth. If you know anything about farming, you know fertilizer prompts growth… and compost (poop) makes the best fertilizer.
The roots of our faith grow deepest in the compost of adversity. We so often associate our comfort with God’s blessing. But a loving father wants his children to grow. While we may think that we can comfortably pursue growth, only our waistlines grow significantly while nestled deep within our comfort zones. Apart from my challenges, losses, trials, blunders, responsibilities I’d rather not have, mistakes, circumstances beyond my control, and other people’s unfavorable actions, my faith would be nothing more than a rabbit’s foot, fire insurance, or a window dressing.
God knows my heart. He sees my weaknesses, my independence from him, my distractions when I’m feeling so comfortable and blessed that I can’t see them myself. In fact, the more comfortable and blessed I feel, the less likely I am to see my need for growth. It’s while experiencing a range of trials, emotions, challenges, and decisions that I discover the shallowness of my own roots and my need to be grateful and depend upon God’s mercy, grace, and love. It’s the recurrence of the strong wind and blinding rain in my face that reminds me of my need to seek shelter.
It’s in the great storms of our lives, as we experience the greatest range of thoughts and emotions, that we can identify with Job’s words following his long suffering,
“I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see you.”
Job 42:5
It’s within such a range of circumstances and experiences that we grasp the significance and solace of confidently trusting God’s promises,
“I will be with you always, even to the end of the age.”
Matthew 28:20
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
Psalm 23:4
We can be at home on the range because our Father is with us. The friction and compost of this world prompts us, like no level of comfort could, to turn to him, growing the roots of our faith ever deeper into a trusting relationship with him.