The Fate of Elmily

The following is a true story.
(and a parable for life)

Betsy, a VERY concerned citizen, discovered an unsightly discharge between two branches on the Elm outside her home. Betsy knew what this meant.

Her life was in danger.

While the threat of limbs crushing her Honda CRV worried her sick, Betsy sacrificed everything to engage in an extended letter writing campaign to the town council.

  • “I am VERY concerned. My car, which I work very hard to purchase, could be crushed!”

Despite multiple inspections from the town’s arborist confirming the Elm’s health, Betsy continued her campaign.

  • “I have named the tree Elmily and I pray for her daily”

  • “Every day, when I park my car, which I purchased, I fear the worst.”

  • “Elmily, is dying, it is obvious!”

  • “I can tell you do not care for me or Elmily”

  • “I am a kind person, you are unkind, I pray for Elmily. I need my car”

Betsy was convinced the town was conspiring against her and Elmily.

Below is the exact transcript of the arborist’s letter confirming the tree’s health. It remains in the town’s records.

In reference to Mature American Elm on Ferry St. just south of Chestnut.

There’s an old saying

“No good tree grows with ease. The stronger the breeze, the stronger the trees.”

The weather conditions our trees.

In regards to sap / oozing on tree, This is normal for that particular species. While some would diagnos as slime flux, American Elms typically secrete sap & as a result the bark turns white / yellowish color.

This is also the very reason the ole timers called it a “piss elm.”

Upon my inspection, I found the tree to be in good health & I feel it should be celebrated by the town. Mulch around it, put a bench by it, enjoy it!!

Just please don’t worry about it. (wasted energy)

The only preventative action as far as the tree being co-dominant leads, would be to install a dynamic cabling system that holds tree together during high winds. However, since no splitting or included bark is present and I believe whole heartedly in the opening quote about trees’ acclimating ability, the installation of a cabling system would only be to apease the worry warts of the town.

Peace Out

The Wave

My anxious heart sat by the sea. Wrestling with loss

I imagined life as a wave.

Only the largest would be sufficient.

I spied a grand one. Whitecapped and stretching wide.

As it rolled along the shore, I saw a young couple ambling westward.

The morning sun to their back.

Their path crossed with a man walking his dog.

Each exchanged a pleasant wave.

A group of seagulls sailed above.

Over the horizon, a cloud bank wisped lightly across a pale blue sky.

The gulls diminished and the canvas was reset with a new wave rising beyond my view,

I was grateful.

Suwannee River Monster

Way down deep upon the slow black Suwannee, there is a creature I did not touch.

A beast often feared for reasons obscured or judgements to often deceiving.

The common man list three facts as evidence when placing a verdict.

The beast is wild, impulsive and speaks like hourly wages.

A sign posted: USE CAUTION!

Souls consumed by unkept ways will be exiled.

Once after a Springtime rain, while mooring kayaks and canoes, I ambled the river’s edge.

As I peered past where prideful feet paused.

Down a distance upon the rocks, hidden by cypress and stream.

I spied the Suwannee River Monster

In silence from my secret perch, I watched his gangled silhouette.

Veiled by lavender mist and Spanish moss, a grin slid across my brow.

ITS TRUE! Hunched back, razored teeth, and growling with corrupt intentions.

I whispered derision while the mockingbirds rang in chorus

But then, as he slid through the shadows, the sacrament of Arthur Radley.

His reject form seemed reborn as he gathered our vessels from drifting.

No alarm was sound and the danger not found. Just a crew rescued while bathing in blindness.

An invisible grace, from one whom men hid their face,

I heard the beast sing something softly.

I don’t blame those who missed the moment.

But as for me, my gratitude is incomplete.

For I peered past the mist and still kept my distance.

It seems the common man’s verdict was too precious in my heart.

How I wish wisdom was tandem with age,

For I saw the grace, but did not embrace,

His kindness as children drew near him.

The Fence

I wanted to be a wall

Steadfast boundless, rising ten feet tall

A stone steel fortress blazed with murals to proclaim

I would huddle troubled masses, blocking wind, blocking rain

Upon my parapet the triumph trumpets blast.

Make straight the way a kingdom coming fast

Well…Hmm….

It looks like I’m a log,

covered moss, in quiet fog

A tower turned side down

Feeding grubs to mice around

Mixed and hidden amongst the hills,

Clover wrapped and waiting still

Long limber limbs reaching filtered in the stream.

Where secret birds and shadows find rest and time to dream

I am not a fortress force, upon great heights to plot a course

But a fence for streams and grace. a place to sit and rest the race

Refuge

I’m Stuck on the coast in Montana

Sailing for refuge with a friend in mind

We’re bound from Billings to Bighorn

Chasing decades down the highway lines

Just a bullet caravan of dreamers

We drift onward with no port in sight

I’m stuck on the coast in Montana

Hoping Wyoming is a friend of mine


There is a storm up on the mountain

Raining coast to coast, all day & night

Its that same ole blue hound of heaven

He's not safe but I'll be all right


My refuge is uncharted waters

Searching for my home in an open sky

There's a storm up on the mountain

He's not safe but he's a friend of mine

Ten Sleep

Good morning Ten Sleep, the sun is rising fast

With the color of ten thousand years, tomorrow is fading past

To leave you won’t be easy, but my love has called me home

She whispered through the Bighorn, “You’re forgiven and not alone”

________________________________________

Chorus:

You are more than capable, to soar among the skies

To run out with the speed goats, to drift in shadows with the times

I’ve never seen beneath the river, or the canyon in my mind

It’s just these old saloons and saddles, that make my troubled worries blind

________________________________________

Good morning Ten Sleep, you’re waking in your grave

Where cowboys dream of pardon and peaceful room to graze

Your older than the highway, you never change or rearrange

I’m just mist upon the fence line, a quiet pining for open range.

________________________________________

Chorus:

Pastor Pirate

The last pastor pirate fell in the pulpit today

He was placed in the dock for the words they might say

They charged him with murder and offered one wish

Then tossed in the ocean for trying to fish.

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

The Reject who bled out for you and for me.

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

His courage now drifting alone on the sea.

Santiago and Fantine, both offered a chair

Two fellow pirates not under their care.

As the fog machine carried his corpse in the light

He stumbled down knob creek and swore not to fight

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

His questions now pondered ten miles out to sea.

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

He’s a strawman that walks just like you and like me.

To the last Pastor Pirate… we all raise a glass

A Father, and Brother, whose time has now passed.

Hidee Ho, Dumpy Oh, Tweedle Dum Tweedle Dee

This song is for someone that we didn’t see.

Being Small

How does a man make himself small?

Can he pass through a keyhole and stay 10 feet tall?

When he tumbles like Alice, down a rabbit hole of blame,

Should he eat condemnation and shrink into shame?

A keyhole his exit, but the locked truth will not turn

Eat me, Drink me, be humbled and learn.

What is he losing? What is the cost?

A portrait of power, now pummeled and lost.

His pride will be sifted, as he’s redeemed from the fall

To eat, drink and remember, a joy from being made small.

I'll keep it

Faith uses the past to shepherd us forward.

____________________________________________________________________________

I am keeping these half-burnt candles.

Wisdom-worn wicks,

Waiting in cake,

Remnants of Sichuan and Metairie.

The wax has waned,

A memory stained,

Faces full of sunsets and revelry.

Now I walk through the valley of the shadow of doubt.

“A table was set”, I will not forget

So I will keep these treasures and smile.

-B.Oaks

Psalm 77 gives an honest look at the struggle of remembering God’s provision in hardship. It’s a beautiful intersection of life’s questions and hope.

“I will cry out to God and call for help. I will cry out to God and he will pay attention to me.2 In my time of trouble I sought the Lord. I kept my hand raised in prayer throughout the night. I refused to be comforted.3 I said, “I will remember God while I groan; I will think about him while my strength leaves me.”4 You held my eyelids open; I was troubled and could not speak.5 I thought about the days of old, about ancient times.6 I said, “During the night I will remember the song I once sang; I will think very carefully.” I tried to make sense of what was happening.7 I asked, “Will the Lord reject me forever? Will he never again show me his favor?8 Has his loyal love disappeared forever? Has his promise failed forever?9 Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has his anger stifled his compassion?” 10 Then I said, “I am sickened by the thought that the Most High might become inactive.11 I will remember the works of the Lord. Yes, I will remember the amazing things you did long ago.12 I will think about all you have done; I will reflect upon your deeds.”13  O God, your deeds are extraordinary. What god can compare to our great God?14 You are the God who does amazing things; you have revealed your strength among the nations.15 You delivered your people by your strength— the children of Jacob and Joseph. 16 The waters saw you, O God, the waters saw you and trembled. Yes, the depths of the sea shook with fear.17 The clouds poured down rain; the skies thundered. Yes, your arrows flashed about.18 Your thunderous voice was heard in the wind; the lightning bolts lit up the world. The earth trembled and shook.19 You walked through the sea; you passed through the surging waters, but left no footprints.20 You led your people like a flock of sheep, by the hand of Moses and Aaron”
— Psalm 77

Invisible Hospitality

The true test of hospitality comes when another’s comfort rises at our expense and the exchange is unseen. There is value in welcoming a friend, there is honor suffering for another. But to lose in secret for another’s gain, then we flourish.

When will we beg at midnight?

When should wisdom unlock the door?

When does justice collect its memories?

When mercy is more.


When hospitality swims shallow, we see merriment.

When hospitality runs deep, we feel loss.

When hospitality is invisible, there is love.

When mercy is more.


Oh, the intangible brilliance of veiled charity.

libations of kindness without leverage.

When mercy is more…

Then we know who hospitality is for.

-B.Oaks

“5-6 Then he said, “Imagine what would happen if you went to a friend in the middle of the night and said, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread. An old friend traveling through just showed up, and I don’t have a thing on hand.’

7 “The friend answers from his bed, ‘Don’t bother me. The door’s locked; my children are all down for the night; I can’t get up to give you anything.’

8 “But let me tell you, even if he won’t get up because he’s a friend, if you stand your ground, knocking and waking all the neighbors, he’ll finally get up and get you whatever you need.

9 “Here’s what I’m saying:

Ask and you’ll get;
Seek and you’ll find;
Knock and the door will open.

10-13 “Don’t bargain with God. Be direct. Ask for what you need.”
— Luke 11 5-13 The Message


Work - Part 2

Do I have to be alone to find rest?

Our default is to think of “Rest” in terms of escape. While there is value to stepping away, (Jesus did it) reducing “Rest” to isolation misses the bigger story of the Gospel. In the coming Kingdom “Rest” is not a nap and its certainly not isolation. The true “Rest” we long for will be experienced in community and is so much more than cessation.

This is counter intuitive. So maybe it’s easier to think in terms of peace. Peace is more than avoiding activity or people. It is experiencing order over chaos.

Though I walk in death, you are with me, you prepare a table for me. - Psalm 23

Think of a well-oiled machine, an orchestra, a garden or assembly line. These systems have an order that is beautiful and a peace that is contagious. Consider how nature reflects this to a thirty soul.

Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days, inciting at once to work and rest! Days in whose light everything seems equally divine, opening a thousand windows to show us God. - John Muir

Is this window to rest proprietary to nature? Can work bring peace?

There is no tension between creativity and peace. No tension between creativity and work.
So then why does work seem in opposition to peace?

Our sin is to blame. It promised but destroyed peace. Everything, including work has been stained.

Part of the problem is that we treat work like an end unto itself. But our labors will never be sufficient to swallow the complexities wrought by sin. This is beyond our reach. (Which btw is part of the problem. AKA fancying ourselves too much)

Academia acknowledges the limits of our endeavors in a thing called Ashby’s Law.

Ashby’s Law, also known as the Law of Requisite Variety, examines complex systems saying: For a system to be at peace, it must be able to handle the same level of complexity found in its surroundings. A system will fail if its capacity does not match or exceed its context. The more complex the context, the greater capacity a system must have.

OK that will break your brain. What does it mean here?

Answer: The world is enormously complicated and needs suitable solutions. No one person or team is enough. This means sustainable rest will never come from work, church, finances or even family. Even religion cannot absorb the problems of the universe. Only the grand narrative of the Gospel can absorb all the variabilities of life (including your story). This is extremely liberating. If God is really big enough, then we need not fear complex problems, obscure solutions or even failure.

But God, through the amazing work of the cross, is making all things new.

Sin is not the end of the story. The cross swallows chaos and restores peace to broken systems. It makes straight the crooked. We all (me, you and everyone) introduce trauma into our systems. Constantly causing a cumflumple. Weeds in the garden, wrenches in a machine, sour untuned instruments.

And this is an amazing grace, God commissions broken people as ambassadors of rest. Whether student, teacher, barista or entrepreneur, we are peace givers in all the places we live work and play.

So… Maybe work stinks right now. But escape is not the solution. Neither is the perfect job. The rest your heart long for comes from Christ. And you have the privilege of living from that rest in the midst of the stink.

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”. - John 16:33

God Knows

Grace is Enough

Knowing the one who knows.

The veil and marred held powerless.

Proclaiming peace in an economy of condemnation.

A truth discovered in unrequested places.

But I belong to Royalty. I am well acquainted with the King of Kings. I am better known and better understood among the great family above than I am on earth - Amanda Smith


For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. - 1 Corinthians 13:12-13

The Poet

"God was a maker, which is what the word 'poet' means. When God spoke, a poem was created and there was a pattern, meter, symmetry, rhythm, and a pure sense of delight. If God was a poet, that means we are poems."

— Rev. Dr. Luke A. Powery