Emotional Oak

Isaiah 61:3

To grant to those who mourn in Zion--to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.

Saturday, I drove down to my hometown to meet my mentor for dinner. He is a fairly well-known individual in certain circles. I grew up the street from him. Yesterday, he gave me a copy of his most recent book and a DVD of his life story that cost almost a million dollars to produce. He was and is an influential person in my life. We had a lovely dinner, good food, wine, beer, and fellowship.  

I gave him a bottle of my Homebrew Belgian Quad to share with his beer loving son-in-law. That's an even trade. It is tortuous for me to give the bottles away--and it is because of the bottles. 

I obtained about 2.5 cases of returnable beer bottles several years ago. They are thick and sturdy. Perfect for the rough and tumble world of homebrewing. Slowly, their numbers are decreasing due to untimely accidents, explosions because of my improper fermenting strategies, and giving the bottles to others when full and never seeing them return, despite assurances to the contrary.

I stopped by the old homestead on the way to his house and took a picture of it. The giant oak tree is how the property is known around the neighborhood and beyond. It is not only tall, it is wide. This oak tree is at least 250 years old and will outlast all of us, unless struck by lightening or destroyed by a tornado. It drops an unfathomable amount of leaves each Fall and enough acorns to keep every squirrel within a radius of a mile in good stead for winter. No need to fight over them...abundance for all. Squirrels for Bernie Sanders.  

Since I was in town, I paid a visit to my Dad who lives nearby. We got in a bit of a debate about abortion and acorns this morn, believe it or not, where he pointed out that the acorns that land in the yard have zero chance of becoming mighty oaks because the shade of the oak tree's leaves would keep them from the sunshine needed to grow (oak tree as pregnant woman). I pointed out the work of squirrels who would squire away their acorn stash and then forget about them--and perhaps such acorns would germinate and grow outside of the sun-starved circle of its Mama. Acorns are also not eternal, despite the oak tree probably outliving us all.   Abortion becomes much more profound with eternity in mind. 

The house is no longer in the family but is the only home I really remember. Although born in St. Louis and spending some formative years in West Virginia, when I think of home, this is it. A lot happened under these leaves of oak. A lot of good times and a lot of sad times. When my parents split up, the home became just a house to me and one where it was very good for me to leave. Going away to college saved my sanity. 

As I looked around the old neighborhood yesterday, I saw layers and layers of memories, as if seeing the present through a prism of the past. Across the street, were the laurel bush and another oak tree where my older brother and I first met the other neighborhood kids back in 1970. The street where we played street hockey as kids with its high curbs. The local park where I spent hours and hours shooting hoops, often alone. The bus stop up the way. The Boy Scout Camp across the railroad tracks. The Duncan's farm where we used to buy our Halloween pumpkins. The local shopping center where we had to walk underground for about a half mile to get to, through some tunnels in shallow water because the highway was so busy to cross.    

The neighborhood seemed so small. On the drive back to Lancaster today, I got very sad for some reason. 

One reason was reflecting on the reality that both my mentor and my Dad are around 80. They have been like sturdy oaks to me. I really have a hard time imagining life without them.   

Back Story: One of my best friend's is back from California because his Dad just passed away and I got together with him and a couple of other guys I had never met but who he is close to and we hung out for hours at the Lancaster Dispensary Company on Friday night, a place in town that holds many fond memories for me. We had a great circle of conversation and a lot of laughs and some sadness for our good friend. I think in the back of my mind I am worrying about losing my mentor and my Dad, sooner than later. When friends' parents begin to pass away, it is a blunt reminder that time may be short. 

Another strand of sadness was seeing the house. When  I got married about a decade ago, I saw it as the culmination of a lot of years of rebuilding and recovering from my own family's collapse and the opportunity to have a new home. Replace one story with another. When I got divorced last year, it just seemed like another chapter in a book of loss that keeps being rewritten, just with different characters. In fact, one of the last conversations I had with my former wife was around two Christmas's ago where she said I should go home for the holidays. I replied to her, "Where's home?" 

The closest thing I got is here at 143 and it is just me. 

I am OK with being alone because I have seen the difficulties of marriage up close and personal. I no longer long with loneliness for a significant other because like everything else in this Fallen world, costs come with it. So, I am content in my state and no longer envy what appear to be happy couples because I know the story is often not so grand behind closed doors and pulled curtains. So, it is Valentine's Day. And I am at peace. 

Jesus began his public Galilean ministry reading from the beginning of Isaiah 61 in the Nazareth synagogue, and said that "Today, the scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." (Luke 4:21). The crowd was first amazed and then wrathful because Jesus essentially said that they needed Him to heal them in His subsequent comments. Luke concludes the chapter by writing that the synagogue's crowd wanted to throw Jesus off a cliff but that He passed through their midst and went His way. But, in Him going His way, He left them behind, still chained to their sin, anger, and vehemence. When we hide our hurt, what replaces it becomes hurtful.   

When I was a teenager, I swore to myself that I would never cry, never admit that I was hurt, and sad. Instead, I shut down those vulnerable emotions. I froze over like the 9 degree ground outside. A part of me died because of that decision and it has taken a lot of pain to crack open that icy soil. I was like a tall oak, bereft of leaves in the Winter. Maybe Spring will come again... 

To let Jesus heal my brokenheartedness has been something I have had to cycle back to over and over again, replacing the past with His presence. It is very difficult for me to cede control. On my travels back from home to Lancaster today, I cried some tears, traveling tears as it were on the road called life.  And Jesus came into my midst.