Michele's family had been given use of a beach condo in New Smyrna for the Labor Day holiday weekend. Despite much to do here, we decided the time with them and a refreshing respite seaside were time better spent.
Down from where we were playing in the sand and water were a handsome thirty-something couple and his twenty-something sister. The younger woman had the cocked head, exaggerated smile and halting gait of a muscular dystrophy patient. There were no wheelchairs in soft sand casting shadows on this sunny day. He supported her with a constant touch - his hand on her waist when she could carry herself in the water or on the sand, his arm wrapped around her waist or shoulders when she needed his strength to uphold her. Her thin legs looked spindly, like a newborn fawn testing its legs for the first time.
It was like watching a dance as he deftly anticipated her needs. Surely this was not the first time she had relied on him but instead a practiced routine as she relaxed completely in his arms and in his attentiveness.
Then he held her sitting in the water between his legs like a father would his little girl, lifting her quickly at the last minute when the incoming tide threatened to wash over her head. And her laughter filled the air at the pleasure of it and the delight of being rescued before being doused. He beamed with a joy that matched the sound of her laughter. His wife stood several yards away watching, smiling, enjoying. I wondered if she thanked God for her sister-in-law's special needs that made her husband such a practiced protector and giving man. He never stopped touching her until she was safely placed in a lawn chair where her feet could dangle in the incoming water.
I remembered the words from Isaiah 43 that the LORD has used so often to remind me of His constant presence as I embark on some new adventure with Him: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you."
I am the disabled girl unable to go it alone. But He is the attentive brother, always carrying and guiding me with His strength, always touching me in reassurance, letting me know He is always there.
May my laughter fill the air as I step into new waters.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
August 3, 2011
They cut it down this weekend. Its brittle branches stacked neatly in a high airy stack at the curb. The remaining trunk looked like a bonsai of the majestic oaks around town that have been cleared of their branches and leaves, delaying their inevitable fall, reducing the sail of the tree.
Even the stump with shortened limbs revealed the unnatural looking bark of a tangerine tree gone wrong. The dark outer bark had split randomly, revealing the blonde, almost white, inner wood. Today as I passed the branches had been collected and in its place the remaining trunk, without any roots, laying on its side awaiting removal. The blank spot in the yard was obvious but attention was diverted by a newly placed FOR SALE sign.
Why does this bother me when tree work is a daily reality in the abundance of trees in Winter Park?
Because I saw it often when it was gloriously and exuberantly healthy. Its location at a corner of Lakemont made it on the way to where I was going several times a week. Less than five years ago it was a showpiece with glossy deep green foliage punctuated with a bumper crop of perfect orange tangerines. Heavily laden with fruit, it resembled a Christmas tree whose decorator had an unlimited budget for ornaments. There it stood proudly displaying its harvest for the new family that had rented the home.
Slowly the fruit on the lower limbs was picked, enjoyed, shared, leaving a broad band of green, like a belt, around the bottom couple feet of the tree. Only what could be reached by standing on the ground disappeared. Yet the tree still impressed, its remaining fruit beckoning to be plucked. No one did and another FOR RENT sign appeared at the front of the yard.
Winter came and went and spring arrived early. Instead of setting on new blossoms for another crop, the fruit waited. It looked out of place so full of orange orbs, like Christmas decorations in April. Hot days finally made the tree release the now overripe fruit and it collected in the sand on the ground, splitting on impact revealing decaying flesh within the orange skins. The distinctive smell of rotting citrus filled the air instead of the sweet fragrance of blossoms.
The homeowners did nothing. I don't know what they could have done at this point but it soon became obvious that this was the beginning of the end for this once prime specimen of a tangerine tree. Its cycle and rhythm of care and production had been delayed and it was failing, even though it had done so well what it was meant to do for a season. No one was paying attention except drivers-by on their way to somewhere else.
Eventually the once evergreen leaves browned and curled, then fell, leaving the branches and limbs to persevere and perhaps be cared for. It was not to be. Most recently the tree stood with arms reaching skyward, bark splitting in long fractures leaving it more vulnerable to damage and disease. It was too late for a rescue but it remained, testimony to what once might have been.
I think of all the abundant things that get overlooked despite their offerings because no one is paying attention or they are too busy to notice that decline has set in. No one sees while intervening can still make a difference. Countries, economies, governments, institutions, organizations, families, churches, marriages, friendships, the list goes on of abundances easily taken for granted while their good production looks so good.
Who would have guessed that leaving all that beautiful fruit hanging would bring the tree's demise?
Even the stump with shortened limbs revealed the unnatural looking bark of a tangerine tree gone wrong. The dark outer bark had split randomly, revealing the blonde, almost white, inner wood. Today as I passed the branches had been collected and in its place the remaining trunk, without any roots, laying on its side awaiting removal. The blank spot in the yard was obvious but attention was diverted by a newly placed FOR SALE sign.
Why does this bother me when tree work is a daily reality in the abundance of trees in Winter Park?
Because I saw it often when it was gloriously and exuberantly healthy. Its location at a corner of Lakemont made it on the way to where I was going several times a week. Less than five years ago it was a showpiece with glossy deep green foliage punctuated with a bumper crop of perfect orange tangerines. Heavily laden with fruit, it resembled a Christmas tree whose decorator had an unlimited budget for ornaments. There it stood proudly displaying its harvest for the new family that had rented the home.
Slowly the fruit on the lower limbs was picked, enjoyed, shared, leaving a broad band of green, like a belt, around the bottom couple feet of the tree. Only what could be reached by standing on the ground disappeared. Yet the tree still impressed, its remaining fruit beckoning to be plucked. No one did and another FOR RENT sign appeared at the front of the yard.
Winter came and went and spring arrived early. Instead of setting on new blossoms for another crop, the fruit waited. It looked out of place so full of orange orbs, like Christmas decorations in April. Hot days finally made the tree release the now overripe fruit and it collected in the sand on the ground, splitting on impact revealing decaying flesh within the orange skins. The distinctive smell of rotting citrus filled the air instead of the sweet fragrance of blossoms.
The homeowners did nothing. I don't know what they could have done at this point but it soon became obvious that this was the beginning of the end for this once prime specimen of a tangerine tree. Its cycle and rhythm of care and production had been delayed and it was failing, even though it had done so well what it was meant to do for a season. No one was paying attention except drivers-by on their way to somewhere else.
Eventually the once evergreen leaves browned and curled, then fell, leaving the branches and limbs to persevere and perhaps be cared for. It was not to be. Most recently the tree stood with arms reaching skyward, bark splitting in long fractures leaving it more vulnerable to damage and disease. It was too late for a rescue but it remained, testimony to what once might have been.
I think of all the abundant things that get overlooked despite their offerings because no one is paying attention or they are too busy to notice that decline has set in. No one sees while intervening can still make a difference. Countries, economies, governments, institutions, organizations, families, churches, marriages, friendships, the list goes on of abundances easily taken for granted while their good production looks so good.
Who would have guessed that leaving all that beautiful fruit hanging would bring the tree's demise?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)