Raised Gardens, Fallen Hopes

If you were going to pick any tree in a vast forest to personify my father it would be the tallest, sturdiest, most faithful tree you could find.  His roots go deep.  His shade is wide.  He covers many. 

Now cancer has its horrible grip on our beloved tree - the one we all depend on - and we don't know what to do.  He's a very special tree you see.  He doesn't bend in the wind, but remains strong, steadfast, unshakable, unmovable.  We love this tree.   So much.

This past week, my family underwent yet another pet project in one of their favorite pastimes - home improvement.  They constructed raised gardens.  Much time and care went into the design of these raised gardens.  My dad called me the day before his scheduled surgery to remove his tumor to tell me about them.  "You really should see it," he said, "It's very different looking" and proceeded to tell me about the team of non-English speaking landscapers who were diligently leveling the ground, spreading mulch, and erecting the handmade cedar walls under his watchful and discerning eye.  These clever contraptions actually raise the soil level to make a backbreaking job more enjoyable, with the added benefit of giving plants more room to take root and grow in plush, tilled soil. 

This project epitomizes my dad.  Take something good, like a garden in the sun drenched spot close to the house perimeter, and make it better...  by giving it a better chance of getting clipped and pruned by our soon- to- be- hard- at- work mother.   It accomplishes two of his favorite goals.  Make something that is good, better, through intuitive design.  And put our mom to work! (lol)  Plus it would be his last gallant grasp at industrious activity before his eight weeks of bedridden recovery.  So, he was thinking ahead.

The following day after those raised gardens were set in place, our hopes for a fast and full recovery fell.    We were told our dad's surgery was canceled due to his tumor's growth.      

Our beloved tree remains unshaken.  The center of our garden.  The tree with a root structure that keeps all of the rest of us from eroding and washing away.   As hard as the wind blows and the storm rages, our beloved tree does not bow.  But, our hopes have fallen.  We need a team of Mexicans working overtime to level our fears, build up our optimism, and raise our hope.  

Please pray for my dad as he fights this storm.  We raise him in prayers, faith, love and God's grace.  He is the wind beneath our wings when we need to fly.  The unwavering branch when we need something to hold onto.  And the constant true north in our lives.

Buried Treasure

Today, my sons and I viewed a dinosaur exhibit at the Science Center - Dinosaurs in Motion - an unusual display of recycled metal hammered into mechanical art of life size creatures.  Running from exhibit to exhibit, my 9 year-old was the effervescent teacher and I, the student, as he rattled off from memory the crucial details of these fantastical beings.  I learned each one's scientific name, prehistoric era, length, height, and food preference.  He even pointed out the difference between an herbivore's teeth and a carnivores'.  I was beyond thrilled as you can imagine.  His eyes lit up as he reached a new display, and my eyes lit up as I watched his eyes light up.  We enjoy 2 hours of pulling levers and pushing dials to make these rustic dinosaurs come to life.  With each yank of a pulley, a metal claw or jaw or spike came to life and gave new meaning to recycled cans.

To commemorate our fond memories at the gift shop, Tyler opted for a small replica of his favorite dinosaur - the Velociraptor - packed in a solid square of sand with a small hammer, pick and brush.  He was elated.  Cloud nine.  "Mom, when I get home, I am going to start right away digging out this dinosaur to prepare for my career as a paleontologist."  "That's great son."  "I can't wait to get home, Mom. This is the best present ever.  When I'm done with this one, I want to get the Tyrannosaurus Rex or the Diplodocus.  I can do them all, Mom.  This is great practice.  I am so excited. I really am a chatterbox when I'm excited." 

One archeologist makeshift tent in the yard and a couple of hours of digging later, this resolute boy starts to see some bones.  It's a tough job.  He has to carefully scrape, pick, dig, and brush off the sand to extract his treasure.  Too hard, and the delicate bones will break.  Too soft and the sand doesn't budge.  It's tightly compacted around each stray piece.  Tyler is engrossed.  His mission is to extract the individual bones in order to construct a complete and whole product. 

Later that evening, I had my own hours of digging at a dinner date with my longtime mentor and friend.  The main topic of discussion.  Buried treasure.  While I didn't have a tent in the backyard, I did have a pick and shovel and some determination (like mother, like son).  In hunt for purpose and making a difference in this life, I have found a bone here and there - scraped the surface.  But, it's difficult.  Tougher than I thought.  And much tougher than the instructions on the box say.  You have to store the good advice to remember in the bad times.  You have to believe that you will find your way out even when you fall in a dark hole that may or may not be near your dinosaur bones. 

I think many of us are searching for our "finding" in some pretty packed earth.  Some of us are searching in the wrong spot.  Some of us have missing pieces or may have misplaced our tools, and some have just given up.  But, my son's tenacity and belief that he could get this thing out sparked something in me.  His excitement and fervor spoke volumes to me.  That sometimes all we need is a will and a way.  A will that we can do it.  The confidence that we know the right way and the reaffirmation that we have been given the right tools.  We've had them all along.  We have been "equipped for works of service" and can attain the whole measure of who we are supposed to be.  Life's storms are inevitable.  Tossing us back and forth by waves.  But, finding our way back to solid ground and picking up our tools is the important part.  We have to keep digging and scraping our way to the truth.  There is no clean or easy way to do it really.  It's about reaching our fullness in who we were designed to be.  Fullness in spirit.  Fullness in life.  And whether it takes a pick or a shovel or a darn backhoe, I'm going to find it!