The Fire
It appears that this week it is winter in North Texas. It's cold. And for us that means that it is under 50 degrees. The weatherman says that this "deep freeze" is going to continue, and we might even see a snow flurry or two by the new year.
It also means we can have a fire in the fireplace without turning on the air conditioner.
When I say we can have a fire, I mean a real fire. Not one of those gas, fake log fires. No, I mean an honest-to-goodness real fire that engages every one of the senses. I love a fire.
Those logs burning in my fireplace right now used to be part of a living oak tree. Maybe someone sat in the tree's shade in the heat of summer. It probably provided a spot for a bird's nest and fed the deer and squirrels with its acorns.
But like people, trees don't live forever. Any number of things could have killed it--the drought, lightning, disease.
And then someone came along with a chain saw and cut it down. Big limbs were cut into logs, and those logs were stacked up by my house. And they waited. Through the hot summer. Through the hot fall. Until finally winter came to the farm.
So now here I am. Kicked back in my chair, cozy and and warm by the fire.
And though the tree no longer provides shade or a home or food, it still brings pleasure.
I just read an article that said if you want to be happy, think like an old person. Gerontologists say that people who age well are resilient and see the good in their lives. They care about others and are interested in service. In spite of growing frailer and nearing death, they have not quit living.
Like the log, they know they still have something to give. It isn't the same as when they were young, but it is still good. Before my mother died, she was so sick that she wondered aloud why God didn't let her go home. And then she said, "I guess he still has something for me to do."
That's the kind of old person I want to be.
Actually, it seems a pretty good plan for right now.
It also means we can have a fire in the fireplace without turning on the air conditioner.
When I say we can have a fire, I mean a real fire. Not one of those gas, fake log fires. No, I mean an honest-to-goodness real fire that engages every one of the senses. I love a fire.
Those logs burning in my fireplace right now used to be part of a living oak tree. Maybe someone sat in the tree's shade in the heat of summer. It probably provided a spot for a bird's nest and fed the deer and squirrels with its acorns.
But like people, trees don't live forever. Any number of things could have killed it--the drought, lightning, disease.
And then someone came along with a chain saw and cut it down. Big limbs were cut into logs, and those logs were stacked up by my house. And they waited. Through the hot summer. Through the hot fall. Until finally winter came to the farm.
So now here I am. Kicked back in my chair, cozy and and warm by the fire.
And though the tree no longer provides shade or a home or food, it still brings pleasure.
I just read an article that said if you want to be happy, think like an old person. Gerontologists say that people who age well are resilient and see the good in their lives. They care about others and are interested in service. In spite of growing frailer and nearing death, they have not quit living.
Like the log, they know they still have something to give. It isn't the same as when they were young, but it is still good. Before my mother died, she was so sick that she wondered aloud why God didn't let her go home. And then she said, "I guess he still has something for me to do."
That's the kind of old person I want to be.
Actually, it seems a pretty good plan for right now.
But the godly will flourish like palm trees and grow strong like the cedars of Lebanon. For they are transplanted to the LORD’s own house. They flourish in the courts of our God. Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, “The LORD is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!” Psalm 92:12-14
*With a nod to one of my favorite books, The Giving Tree.
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