Reading the Magnolia Leaves

Photo 1: At least 2 leaves have managed to make their way through another "host leaf."

Photo 2:  Note the puckering of the leaves as they've poked through the "host leaf."

I've never claimed to be a botanist, and I'm not about to start.

But I'm pretty confident when I say that these photos I took today of the magnolia tree in my back yard depict a pretty rare phenomenon.

At least two leaves have managed to grow their way through another leaf, which I've decided to call the "host leaf."

In case you're not familiar with the grande dame of southern evergreens, the magnolia tree, let me introduce you. They're more commonly found in wetter southern states east of Texas, but a hardy variety has managed to survive in our scorching summer heat and raw winter freezes. The healthiest specimens benefit from a full profusion of branches - no trimming! - and a deep blanket of dead magnolia leaves underneath, just like an ordinary pine tree usually does best with a thick pile of pine needles around its roots.

Unlike the conventional prickly needles of northern evergreens, however, the magnolia features broad, oval-shaped leaves with waxy green tops and a brownish fuzz underneath. And it's amongst these leaves that the phenomenon I noticed today has taken place.

As a new magnolia leaf grows, I've noticed in the past that if an abrasion occurs on its waxy surface, a dead spot can form, and even create a hole through the leaf. Apparently - and again, remember, I'm not an expert - an abrasion of some sort formed on this host leaf, which could have even been a result of the constant rubbing of the other leaves, since they are close together in a clump at the end of a branch. Over time, the constant rubbing of these leaves nestled perpendicular to each other seems to have worn an abrasion through the host leaf, which then yielded a hole, through which the other two leaves have grown!

Either that, or some bored squirrel chewed a hole in a leaf and pulled through a couple of other leaves, just to kill some time.

At any rate, I think it's an extraordinary occurrence. Don't you? No moral analogy. No sermonizing or doctrinal exposition.

Just nature doing its thing, even if it's not exactly part of God's ideal plan for leaves on His magnolia trees. Usually, they're splayed along buoyant, long branches in little tropical-looking umbrellas of verdant green, making the tree almost shine after a thunderstorm, and looking lush even in winter - a sure reminder, as all evergreens are, that spring will be here soon enough.

Perhaps even in this natural display of God's Creation, however, some rambunctious and stubborn leaves didn't want to play by the rulebook. One of them stayed in place, refusing to budge as two other leaves rubbed against it for so long that they wore a hole in it.

And proceeded to grow through it!

Hmmm... maybe there's a profound moral in here somewhere after all. At least enough to admire how God's Creation both accommodates (the host leaf) and persists (the two other ones)? And how they do it so they both survive?

I'm not even sure I'm wired to do that!
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Go Start With God

It all starts with God.

Everything. Not only the beginning of our world, in Creation. But the way we live our lives and view our personhood.

How you brush your teeth in the morning. Whether you brush your teeth every morning. The color of summertime grass. The density of structural concrete. How long your commute to work took this morning. And your commute home this evening. Whether you even have a job. Or not.

Remember, all of these things start with God. How they end up is, in some grand theological mystery, due in part to the decisions, mistakes, and wisdom that you and I bring to our little patches of reality.

Yet how often do we get seduced into thinking that our actions towards every event in life are more important that the One Who set it all in motion to begin with? Whose sovereignty keeps it all controlled even today, even if our definition of control isn't His?

It's about at this spot where reformed theology becomes important, because I don't believe that any of us chooses Christ. God chooses us. Otherwise, God wouldn't be sovereign, would He?

And if God isn't sovereign, He's not the center of our universe.

Not that many of us remember that He is anyway, while we go about our daily lives. How often to we try and hammer little nuggets of God and His truth into our lives only when it's convenient, or helpful, or absolutely necessary, like in times of crisis?

Instead, shouldn't our lives - every bit of them - be flowing from His truth, His laws, His provision for our salvation, His plan for our sanctification, His promise of the Holy Spirit, and His eternal Kingdom?

I'm not talking about simply trying to fit Sunday church into your schedule. Or volunteer service opportunities.

We know we're not supposed to plan stuff and then ask God to bless it. But don't we spend an awful lot of time and energy living life with our holy Savior being an afterthought, an addendum, a pesky prickler of conscience, or an ambivalent go-with-the-flow kinda fun-loving Guy?

"Oh sure, it's all good!"

The older I get, and the more I realize how ill-equipped I am to live my life despite a college education and an otherwise proper middle-class upbringing in the world's greatest nation, the more I value the perspective of self-denial (Luke 9:23) and a lifestyle of permeating worship.

Not the singing and praying and sermonizing of Sunday morning liturgies, but cultivating a God-centric action plan for the way I think and act that recognizes the His primacy and truth in all of Creation.

Not even in some big, heady intellectual exercise or browbeating no-fun asceticism. Granted, what God has purposed for our good won't always jive with what our culture says is good, and some onlookers to my life may figure I'm a pretty dull, bitter, deprived individual.

Yet to the extent that I don't focus my lifestyle on the culture around me, won't I be better able to remind myself of the things I know and am supposedly still learning about God and what His intentions and gifts are?

Something like "where my treasure is, there my heart will be also?"  (Matthew 6:21)

Don't think I'm pontificating on something I've mastered. Or that since I'm further along in this lifelong exercise than you might be, I figure I'm qualified enough to slap you upside your head for not doing as good a job at this as I'm doing.  None of us will master this before we get to Heaven, and after that, I'm not sure it will matter, since we'll physically be with God.  And who knows how much further along I am in this journey than you or anybody else - and how many other people are even much further along than both of us put together.

It's a race that we run, yes, but we're not competing against each other. We're competing against a culture that the Devil hopes will seep into our souls. Yet how often is it easier to just flow with the culture downstream, when we're supposed to be going upstream? Pegging our journey in sanctification to the culture around us doesn't give an accurate reading of our progress. We're supposed to be pegging our journey in sanctification on Christ and His perfection.

Which doesn't change, like our culture does.

Indeed, the more I read, watch, hear, and experience religious stuff at church, online, in books and magazines, and even those few times when I make a stab at sharing my faith, I become increasingly cognizant of how cluttered our thinking has become in North America's evangelical community. Cluttered, and distracted, and many times downright mis-directed. It's like we're looking back at God along this journey, when we're supposed to be looking forward to Him.

Which is another grand paradox to the Gospel, too, isn't it? Everything starts with God.

Yet He is our leader, the One to Whom we look towards.

Kinda reminds me of the old benediction, "Go with God."

Go! With God.
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Speaking of Confession Suppression

Call it the attack of the oral orifice.

Sometimes, I think that hole in the front of my face is my own worst enemy.

The Book of Proverbs contains repeated warnings about controlling our tongues, watching what we say, and making sure everything that comes out of our mouths is wholesome and edifying.

Our speech doesn't necessarily have to always be pretty, or flowery, or bright, or soothing, does it? But it does need to be truthful, beneficial, and loving. All three, all the time.

Sometimes "truthful" and "loving" cancel each other out, don't they, and we end up not really talking much about a particular subject, even if we think our comments might be beneficial. At least to our audience!

I'm Not Sick! (At least, not physically)

One morning several years ago, during my devotions before going off to work, the Lord struck me with how unloving and careless my talk had been recently in the office. So I decided to try and put into practice the old adage, "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." That afternoon, I overheard a couple of my co-workers commiserating about my health, wondering if I was under the weather, since I had said almost nothing that day!

Fact was, every time I'd gone to open my mouth, I'd realized that what I was about to say wasn't nice, so I'd ended up not talking much at all! When I informed my co-workers that physically, I was fine - I was just trying to watch my mouth - we all had a good laugh, realizing how much all of us contribute to the negative vibes at work when we complain more than we encourage as we talk.

But even when I do things like explaining my silence to my co-workers, I risk offending others, because our world - both at work and at church - isn't geared for gentle admonishments about sinful behavior.

Can't Reel it Back In

I was reminded of that unfortunate reality this past Friday evening at a casual dinner party with church friends. As five or six of us were chatting about people in our denomination, I blurted out a blatantly unloving opinion about somebody I hardly know, and was immediately chastised - both by a dinner companion, and my own conscience.

Why had I said that? My opinion lent nothing to the conversation, didn't encourage anybody, and maligned a fellow believer in Christ for no reason whatsoever.

I shut up - painfully aware through both the corrections of my friend and my own conscience - that I was out of line, but my silence was misinterpreted as lack of ammunition to defend my position. Which, granted, I didn't have, either. The conversation wobbled along for a couple more comments until lurching to a stop.

Yet I felt compelled to continue my silence, partly out of sheer embarrassment, but also because for some odd reason, it seemed if I apologized to the group, I would be sounding sanctimonious. Holier-than-thou. And rubbing their own noses in sin. After all, my unholy outburst merely followed a sequence of other gossip-tinged comments from other people, even though theirs were not nearly as uninformed and malicious as mine.

Which begs the question, incidentally: if what you're talking about is chock-full of facts and communicated in an unemotional tone, when does it become gossip?

Awkwardly, the conversation switched to something else entirely, and for all practical purposes, I was off the hook.

But was I? Although I felt as though I should have brought closure to my sin by apologizing for it, doing so seemed as though it would invite more consternation from my friends than genuine forgiveness. Plus, I rationalized, I didn't want to draw any more attention to what I'd said.

After all, none of us is innocent when it comes to talking our way into sin. It's just that some of us commit that sin more frequently and boldly than others, and socially, it's become relatively acceptable.

But my purpose, now as then, is not to confess any sins my friends may have committed, nor rebuke them for not doing that themselves.

Indeed, the very environment which inhibited me - however uncharitably, or conveniently - from blurting out my confession Friday night does, in fact, likely exist at other times when I'm part of the group of people observing somebody else's blatant sin behavior. No doubt there are times when I'm one of the people who inhibits the proper response from somebody who gets convicted of something they've done. Which, yes, I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'm not always a verbally rambunctious, unloving boor in public. Sometimes I'm the observer of bad behavior, not the perpetrator.

Which all combined, makes for that unhealthy social phenomenon I'll call suppression of confession and guilt.

Suppression of Confession

The suppression of confession and guilt has woven itself in the fabric of evangelical community because we often are fully aware of the sins we commit, yet we've heard so much teaching about spiritual modesty that it sounds like heresy when we actually call ourselves out on a particular sin that we ourselves commit. It's somewhere between bad interpretations of boasting in our weaknesses and trying to extract the log in our own eye while, at the same time, hoping other guilty people see the littler logs in their own eyes. And we all end up in some big confession-fest.

Which probably wouldn't be a bad idea, sometimes, particularly in communities of faith that have gotten woefully bogged-down in anti-social behaviors like false modesty, gossip, slander, judgmentalism, and - horrors! - legalism.

And perhaps this phenomenon is more acute here in the south, where social etiquette probably remains more prevalent than in, say, New York City, where people are more blunt and ambivalent towards austere aspects of group protocol.

But my question is this: at what point should we just freeze in our tracks when we realize we've said something sinful, and just let it wither and die on the flagpole of group disdain? If the conversation takes a twist and leaves us behind at the crossroads of our indiscretion, should we voluntarily dredge up the topic again when those who've heard our sin have mentally "forgiven" us already and moved on?

Or am I the only person to whom these things happen? Is it because I stick my foot in my mouth so many times, I've trained myself to try and close the proverbial barn door after the horse has bolted?

Either way, it's not so much my friends' duty to shake a confession out of me at my every verbal sin, as it is perhaps to come up alongside me in private and encourage me to rectify the situation, in whatever appropriate form that might take, based on the circumstance.

That's all well and good for me to expect that from my friends, but how much of that is a big cop-out on my part? And how often do I perform that service to them? When it's their time in the foot-in-mouth barn?

Yeah, well... maybe my lack of integrity in this area comes from my own aversion to practicing what I preach.

Perhaps this is one of those reasons why suppression of confession is so rampant in North American evangelicalism these days. Not an excuse, but a reason.

Those are times when instead of shutting my oral orifice, I should practice using it in a truthful, beneficial, and loving way.

After all, if your language is seasoned rightly, people might actually be glad when you have a big mouth.
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Whose Grace Is It?

I take as my text today some passages from Psalm 78:

God did miracles in the sight of Israel's fathers in the land of Egypt... But they continued to sin against him, rebelling in the desert against the Most High. They willfully put God to the test by demanding the food they craved.

They spoke against God, saying, "Can God spread a table in the desert? When he struck the rock, water gushed out, and streams flowed abundantly. But can he also give us food? Can he supply meat for his people?"

When the LORD heard them, he was very angry; his fire broke out against Jacob, and his wrath rose against Israel, for they did not believe in God or trust in his deliverance. Yet he gave a command to the skies above and opened the doors of the heavens; he rained down manna for the people to eat, he gave them the grain of heaven. He rained meat down on them like dust, flying birds like sand on the seashore.

In spite of all this, they kept on sinning; in spite of his wonders, they did not believe.

So he ended their days in futility and their years in terror. Whenever God slew them, they would seek him; they eagerly turned to him again. They remembered that God was their Rock, that God Most High was their Redeemer. But then they would flatter him with their mouths, lying to him with their tongues; their hearts were not loyal to him, they were not faithful to his covenant.

Yet he was merciful; he forgave their iniquities and did not destroy them. Time after time he restrained his anger and did not stir up his full wrath. He remembered that they were but flesh, a passing breeze that does not return.

How often they rebelled against him in the desert and grieved him in the wasteland! Again and again they put God to the test; they vexed the Holy One of Israel. They did not remember his power, the day he redeemed them from the oppressor.

Like their fathers they were disloyal and faithless, as unreliable as a faulty bow. They angered him with their high places; they aroused his jealousy with their idols. When God heard them, he was very angry; he rejected Israel completely. He abandoned the tabernacle of Shiloh, the tent he had set up among men. He sent the ark of his might into captivity, his splendor into the hands of the enemy. He gave his people over to the sword; he was very angry with his inheritance.

- from Psalm 78

We love grace, as we should, considering the Price that was paid for it.

However, the more we enjoy it, don't we tend to abuse it? Might we be doing more than simply taking it for granted? Might we be demonstrating an appreciation for the raw religious significance of grace, instead of what God wants: an imperfect love for the Provider of that grace?

No believer in Christ can lose their salvation, but how might the extent to which we never appropriate a deeper devotion to our Savior by considering the fullness of His teachings (and not just those parts we enjoy hearing) and how they apply in our service to others actually indicate we're not really His at all?

Should we dare to shrug off the impact of Psalm 78?

"But they continued to sin against Him."

"They would flatter Him, lying to Him with their tongues; their hearts were not loyal to Him."

"They were disloyal and as unreliable as a faulty bow."

"They aroused His jealousy with their idols."

If you've committed any of these sins, as I have, and believe that God has forgiven you through the atoning sacrifice of His holy Son, then rejoice in that grace! Understand the price that was paid. And live in that grace like you mean it! Not flaunting it for your own purposes, but for the benefit of His Kingdom.

Not because you need to try and repay God for anything. But because as a servant of His, you know you can't. And you know He doesn't want you to try. It's not even like it's a burden, since the love of Christ should "compel us." (2 Corinthians 5:14)

It's all a matter of perspective, isn't it? The esteemed 17th Century Presbyterian Samuel Rutherford wrote:

"Humble sinners have high thoughts of free grace. Stand not afar off, come near, be washed, for free grace is not proud when grace refuseth not sinners. Salvation must be a flower planted without hands that groweth only out of the heart of Christ.

"Take humble thoughts of yourselves - and noble and high thoughts of excellent Jesus to heaven with you!

"Angels and saints shall be Christ's debtors for eternity of ages; and so long as God is God, sinners shall be in grace's account book!"

Those who have been bought with a price live not under a yolk of oppression, but under an obligation of thanks. After all, God is jealous, and He does not want us misplacing our focus on anything else but Him.

Might the extent to which we twist that obligation inwards and lose touch with the entirety of God's holy expectations of us be the extent to which we actually devalue the sacrifice made on our behalf?

Again, to quote Rutherford, "Of all created comforts, God is the lender; you are the borrower, not the owner."

Thanks be to God.
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Don't Forget Those Who Do

A neighbor of mine had a GPS tracking device installed on her aunt's white Cadillac.

The octogenarian relative's doctor suspected she suffered from dementia, but if she was, it was still in the early stages. So the GPS was ostensibly only a precaution; plus, the aunt, although she owned a late-model car, didn't drive it much anymore anyway.

A few weeks ago, my neighbor happened to be working on her computer late in the evening when the GPS software popped up on her screen. Her aunt, an 81-year-old widow who lived about ten miles south of us, was piloting her luxury car towards our neighborhood, unannounced. At a time of day when she never drove.

As my neighbor watched on her computer, the GPS module tracked the Cadillac closer and closer to our street, then past it! The aunt kept on driving into north Arlington, where she knows nobody. Obviously, something was wrong. So my neighbor called the police, who tracked her down and kept her sidelined until my neighbor could get her.

Now, after more tests and some heart-wrenching life changes, the aunt is living with my neighbor's parents, also in their 80's. All of them, in one way or another, victims of the terrible memory-wasting disease with the ominous name: Alzheimer's.

This past Sunday afternoon, another neighbor had been out enjoying a leisurely walk around our neighborhood, when an elderly man driving his car slowly down the street stopped and asked for help with directions.

My strolling neighbor could tell right away that the driver was disoriented. So he called the police on his mobile phone. They came out and were able to ascertain a relative and phone number for the elderly driver, who lived in another city about twenty miles away. Would the gentleman like to go over to our local precinct station where his relatives can come and collect him? Yes, and some other family members came and retrieved his car. They confirmed what the officers suspected: the elderly man had Alzheimer's. And would not be allowed to drive any more.

Yet another acquaintance recently told me about a guy in his church who got a call from a Walgreen's pharmacist in Austin, Texas, several hours away from us here in Dallas-Fort Worth.

The pharmacist had an elderly gentleman at his counter needing to pick up a prescription, but when he'd pulled up the unfamiliar customer's name on Walgreen's database, he learned the man lived back here in Arlington. And had picked up his prescription hours earlier at his neighborhood store.

Shaken, the son called a good friend who lives in Austin and knows his father, asked him to go to the Walgreen's and take his father home with him, and he'd fly down immediately to get him.

Yet another bizarre introduction for another family into the miserable world of Alzheimer's.

All three of these incidents happened just this past summer. To people in one little corner of north central Texas, and, thanks to Arlington being the largest city in America without any mass transit, all via driving mishaps. And combined with my own family's travails with my aunt, they portray what appears to be a rapidly-developing new crisis in the American family: memory, dementia, Alzheimer, and/or mental health care.

It's never really happened before on this scale, with people living longer physically, but science still lagging when it comes to sustaining mental health in old age.

Consider these facts from the Alzheimer's Association:

- Alzheimer's is not a normal part of aging.

- There are nearly 15 million Alzheimer’s and dementia caregivers in the United States providing 17 billion hours of unpaid care valued at $202 billion.

- Alzheimer’s is the sixth-leading cause of death in the country and the only cause of death among the top 10 in the United States that cannot be prevented, cured or even slowed.

- Alzheimer's can strike people in their 30s, 40s and even 50s. This is called younger-onset Alzheimer's.

- 5.1 million U.S. residents older than age 65 have Alzheimer's. About 2.7 million U.S. residents older than age 85 have the disease; however, the report estimated that the number will reach about 3.5 million in 2031, when the first wave of baby boomers reaches age 85.

Indeed, if you don't know anybody who suffers from or cares for somebody suffering from Alzheimer's, it won't be long before you will. And hopefully, it won't be you.

In the meantime, the more politicians talk about entitlements and healthcare reform, even more patients will be diagnosed with one of the most devastating medical conditions known to mankind.

A condition that, once confirmed, leaves little room for waiting, for planning, or for procrastination regarding issues like wills, powers of attorney, and even insurance. Alzheimer's can eat through a life's savings rapidly, and impose incredible complications on the lives, finances, and emotions of caregivers.

Eventually, we'll all get through it, even if we're poorer financially. Right now, none of us has any other choice. At least I hold out hope that our families will be richer from the reward of being able to stand by our loved ones when there's no possibility they can return the favor.

While memories of better days become, sadly, equally one-sided.
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