Twelve Stones

I just can’t bring myself to pick it up. 

The image of this bike thrown aimlessly down is so nostalgic.  With or without a kickstand, it doesn’t matter, this is a standard bike placement.

What joy came from a bike like this when I was a kid.  A bike was everything.  It went out all day and laid prone in front of the house before supper at night.

Oh, the events and encounters in its metal history.  Without a doubt, someone would have caught a ride on the handlebar.  Someone would have stood to peddle giving their friend a lift with legs spread-eagle being toted on the bike seat.  There would have been a flared pant leg caught in its oily chain.  Possibly a playing card clothespinned to a spoke.  For sure, it would have been walked home with a flat tire. And likely, not a one of us have made it this far without having retold a story of a bike scar.

From days long gone, the Old Testament testifies about the placement of 12 stones that recalled nostalgic memories.

There were significant events and encounters the Israelites had in their history with God.  These 12 stones were laid to eternalize a memory of the good things He had done. More precisely they were to stand as a permanent memorial for the future when children asked about them.

That was a day of proof that the living God was undeniably among them at the Jordan River drying up the wet riverbed before their very eyes until all were safely across just as He did with water at the Red Sea.  It brings to mind the other times he used water to save. Moses in the reed basket and Noah in the ark are two.  He still does it with baptism.

These events and encounters mean everything.

They’re stories to uphold.

He did this so His powerful and mighty miracles would forever be retold.

Joshua 4

Mtoto

Oh, what beautiful discoveries our African treasure map took us on in August.  I imagine it might take a full lifetime to discover the gold mine this mtoto’s homeland has to offer.  There is life in abundance in Kisumu, Kenya. 

I hope that is where she finds it.

Far too soon, other worlds will be opened up and for these things she might dream big. These shiny attractions will likely compete against the simplicity of the African nature and their basic acts of living day to day trusting God to give all that they need. But, the gifts I hope sweet mtoto grows to find will be discovered in the local church that God has chosen for her in this beautiful work of His on earth.

Our western world full of plentiful resources is more than their world might hope or imagine. But, imagine they do.  They likely can’t conceive the emptiness of abundance or the dangerous deluge of dead-end distractions.

African conditions can in fact be primitive, but it comes with a rewarding pace of life.  Their efforts to build a community that does not depend on resources outside of themselves serves them in the most beneficial way.  God makes available every resource they need and they understand from where these blessings flow.

They have a wholistic approach to living and it is to love God, disciple people and meet the needs of the community in which they live.  Active communal involvement is of great value and all that they do is birthed in prayer, nourished in prayer and sustained in prayer.  They are a witness to the truth that prayer is the greatest power available.

A unified chorus of song is sung.

“Let it be known that You are God.

Let it be known that You are able.

Let it be known all over the world.”

The Lord gives treasures hidden in the darkness - secret riches.  He will do this so every mtoto may know that He is Lord.

Asante.

Isaiah 45:3

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Little Man

My daughter captured old man and little man working together.  There’s a pile of mulch at the bottom of the hill that needs to be moved to the top.  Little man saw old man moving this mulch all the way up the hill and coming back all the way down the hill.  He was eager to help.

It’s a big hill for a little man.  I mean, it’s a big hill for an old man.  And, it’s also 90 degrees in August.  Old man wasn’t certain little man could complete the task to fill the wheelbarrow, carry it up the hill, empty its contents and then walk it back down.

But, twice.

Little man completed the lap twice.

Big man was delighted.

There was a time when this man wasn’t so old walking up this hill.  There was another old man he followed.  The truth is, there has always been a hill and with it some weight that old men bear.  These loads have been large at times, but the weight has been shouldered until the little ones learn how.

This is the kind of weight that can’t be carried on one’s own.

“When people become weak, the Lord gives them more strength. People who wait for Him to help them will receive new strength. They will rise up high, as if they have the wings of eagles.  They will run and they will not become tired.  They will walk and they will not become weak.”

This little man is a follower.

So, is this old man.

Isaiah 40:29-31

It’s Time

On August 17, 2012 a little runt was born part Australian Shepherd and part something else that was beautiful enough to have blended two breeds into a perfect little dog for me.

Ziti.

A mere twelve years later and her rambunctious spunk has sadly since gone. Her frisk and frolic are no longer present. There has been no hurry in her pace and she’s lost her jumps and leaps up places she was never suppose to be.  We have had to walk around her weary body that hardly moves and lifelessly rests in the middle of our floor like a permanent rug that I wish I could keep.  Because I would!

But, it’s time.

How do I tell the little ones?  The ones that have never known me without my Z.  They know this house and this yard with her in it.  At best, her play has mustered a tired head raise.  I’m so jealous of the dogs that live to be eighteen.  She’s only twelve.  If only I could give her six more years.  Because I would!

But, it’s time.

I’ve always called her out for digging holes in the ground, but now there’s a spot that we’ve had to dig for her.  It is ground that she has claimed as her own.  It’s a place that she loves and it makes me want to change my mind because it’s better for me, but nothing is getting better for her.

There’s a time for every activity under heaven:

A time to give birth and a time to die;

A time to plant and a time to uproot;

A time to kill and a time to heal;

A time to tear down and a time to build;

A time to weep and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn and a time to dance

A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;

A time to embrace and a time to avoid embracing;

A time to search and a time to count as lost;

A time to keep and a time to throw away;

A time to tear and a time to sew;

A time to be silent and a time to speak;

A time to love and a time to hate;

A time for war and a time for peace.

I wish I could turn it all back.

Because I would!

But, it’s time.

Ecclesiastes 3