Seems that my long life is like a treasure hunt.

Once I stepped back from significant teachers and took stock of what I found, I began discerning clues about the Sacred in places I ordinarily would not have frequented, specifically my unconscious; its darkness, impenetrable. My loneliness deepened, my discomfort mounted, and questions spliced my resolve. Even more disconcerting were my dreams, like cattle prods urging me forward. With trepidation, one foot scaled that ravine; another trudged through brambles that bloodied my calves. Many dead-ends undermined my resolve to forge ahead, and yet there was no other option. There was always the next clue to discover.

Years passed. This was no child’s game. Annual retreats afforded me respite to consolidate my gains and give thanks to God. But then the struggle began afresh—Still another clue to discover. So what is this treasure that has attracted my being, from earliest memory? Once glimpsed, its allure only compelled more engagement.

Again, I look to the Gospels. Jesus likens the Kingdom of Heaven to a hidden treasure buried in a field (Mt. 13). Someone finds it, reburies it, then thrilled by his discovery, sells all he has and buys this field. He must have it. His life depends upon it.

Like the seeker, I cherish this treasure, tucked away in my depths. Lest I become puffed up by this discovery, the apostle Paul likens my humanness to an earthenware vessel (II Cor. 4:7), ordinary, and in time, cracks apart when no longer needed.

So the treasure hunt continues—My self-emptying also continues.

 

 

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The night split by lightening, roiled by thunder, throttled by high winds, and drenched by slanting rains feels like menacing spirits on rampage.

Yet with morning, sunlight seeps within the crevices of the pavers in my backyard and begins germinating the seeds deposited by trickster winds. After a few days, the inevitable happens. Patches of crabgrass sprawl aimlessly like the disorders that crop up in my psyche: resentments, fears, self-centeredness, and irritation. Beneath such eruptions lie rioting instincts. Ferreting them out continues to be a humbling practice because of their deep-rootedness.

The question, from whence come these disorders leads to a deeper one: the evil that exists both within and without us.

Jesus speaks to this fact in the parable of the weeds and wheat (Mt. 13). During the night an enemy cast noxious seeds into a farmer’s wheat field; in time, ugly weeds sprouted. Alarmed by this discovery, his servants asked for direction. Lest they pull up the wheat, they were told to leave the weeds alone until the harvest. Then, a reckoning would occur.

Jesus likens the wheat field to the Kingdom of God; the sower, to the Son of Man; the enemy, to the evil one; and the harvest, to the end of the world. Indeed, there will be a reckoning. “The Son of Man will send his angels and they will gather out of his kingdom all… who do evil and throw them into the blazing furnace….”

Thus Jesus’s followers are not to lose heart by evil that serves to hone their skills of Kingdom-living: “They will shine like the sun.…”

 

 

It was a drenchy morning. Up the front walk, she lugged four bags of groceries for her eighty-four-year old customer, homebound with erratic blood pressure. The door opened slowly, then her friend dropped from view. Something was wrong, so unlike the cheerful greetings she had offered her for two years.

“Doris? Are you all right?” She pushed open the door the rest of the way and found her in her housecoat and slippers, gasping, then gripping the sofa as she flopped upon it. Her hollowed eyes seemed to careen wildly like a wheat field torn by a twister. She needed help—fast. “I’ve got to call 911, Doris. Do let me do that. You know we’re friends.” Because Doris’s relatives were too busy to tend to her needs, she depended upon Gateway Delivered Goods for her groceries.

The familiar voice roused her sufficiently to respond: “No—Don’t do that—I don’t wanna to go—Not there.” She moaned, turned on her side, hugging her spindly arms.

“But I must. This is no good.” She had been aware that her customer’s doctor was playing peck-and-find with her medications, and that probably she could receive better care from a cardiologist.

Within minutes, paramedics informed the nearly unconscious Doris that her blood pressure was 74/45, that she needed IV fluids. She nodded, a smile flickering the corners of her narrow mouth, as hefty arms lifted her upon the gurney for the ride to the hospital.

Doris’s friend, Ashley, stayed with her until she was established in a room, then located a granddaughter to take it from there.

Should you wish to contact Ashley for her services with Gateway Delivered Goods in St. Louis, Missouri, call 855-331-8880. She cares, deeply … I know …

 

 

 

 

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