Pray and Trust
Once upon a time there was a verdant green valley...as good and beautiful as could be in God's creation. The first peoples said the land has its way of choosing the good human who would live in this blessed valley; a place of harmony.....mostly. The town that grew up on one side of the valley was called Crawling Stone. The name was thought to have been given by the last wise chief of the local Chippewa tribe who was always tripping over stones on the ground. Every time he tripped he would look down and say "That is the same stone I tripped on yesterday down by the lake.”
There was a small lake...one side of the lake had a beach owned by the town. There was a playground and a picnic grove. Many a child learned to swim at that happy place. The opposite side of the lake bordered private land. It was rich grassland with forests on either side of a field. Through one forested area there was an old dirt road. On hot summer nights you would see the lights of cars going through the trees toward the lake. Lovers often met at that "other side" of the lake and "Other Side" became its name.
Looking over that vacant land on the other side of the road was the farm of Thomas Franklin Ward and his wife Helen. Their four children were all grown now with children of their own. Tom and Helen had raised their family in a big, old farmhouse with a porch that wrapped around three sides. The house was white with a big red barn behind it. Everything was neat and freshly painted. The grounds were well covered by a manicured lawn. There were flowers in half a dozen places all around. Nearly every person in town had a calendar featuring a beautiful picture of Tom and Helen's home, and in the background on a hill about a mile away you could see a bit of a church with a high steeple calling folks to worship. Tom’s son Mark had used a picture of this scene to create calendars and Christmas cards, the sale of which put Mark through art school in Chicago.
One day a new family came to Crawling Stone looking for a piece of land on which to build their dream house. The land in that verdant valley did not choose these people. They were very rich, but not generous. All their money was inherited. The beautiful wife had married her husband for his money. They saw that piece of land across from the Ward farm and paid twice what it was worth to get it. Soon materials and builders arrived and a house was being born. In the middle of construction Tom and Helen took a pie over to introduce themselves to the new neighbors, W. Parker Hutchinson and his wife "Muffy." Her actual human name was Isobel, "but everyone calls me Muffy," she said. Tom and Helen and many of their neighbors learned, over time, to call her and her husband many other names.
W. Parker showed Tom the plans for their new house, saying Muffy designed the place. “It’s very special.” “Special,” Tom thought, because it was modern, but also the ugliest building ever seen. He was thinking science fiction horror movie. It had a 2-level porch across what might’ve been called the front of the house...maybe.
Several months later, when the monstrous house was completed, Muffy told W. she had always dreamed of a country house behind a cute white picket fence. Just a few days later the work began, and the fence ran across the land from forest area to forest area in front and down the sides of the plot, all the way to the lake. Tom and a couple of farmer friends, sharing breakfast at the diner in town, tried to figure out what that fence might have cost. The estimate ran from a Rolls Royce pickup truck all the way to a nuclear submarine. They couldn’t even eat all their breakfast, they were so disgusted.
One beautiful fall day W. Parker Hutchinson was roaming around his [Pray and Trust, cont. from p. 1] second floor porch, brandishing a new shotgun--the best, ordered from Germany. Tom was in the barn when he heard what sounded like gunfire. He went to the front of the house and saw Helen standing on the porch looking concerned. “Tom,” she said, “Bozo the Clown has a gun.” (For Helen, “Bozo” seemed to go well with “Muffy.”)
All of a sudden a few pheasant came out of the long grass, flying away. Two bursts of shotgun were heard and what looked like a prize bird dropped in Tom and Helen’s side yard. Bozo Hutchinson ran across the road into Tom’s yard. “Did you see that, Tommy? Never even shot a gun before and look at that. I must be a natural! I’ll take it into town and have it fixed up for our cook.” Tom said, “That was a good shot no doubt, but there’s a problem now.” Bozo asked what that problem could be, and Tom replied, “It’s on my land, and according to farmer tradition and code of the pheasant, it belongs to me.” “Oh, no,” said Bozo. “I shot it. It’s my reward for being a great shot.” “Well,” Tom said, “we’re in a quandary, but we can settle this quickly by using the farmer’s rule of deciding.” “Yeah,” said Bozo, “what’s that?” “Well,” said Tom, “it’s simple. One at a time we kick each other in the shin, and the toughest kick gets the bird.”
Now Bozo and Tom were about the same height, but Bozo easily had a 30-lb. weight advantage. “OK, let’s settle this the farmer way. Who goes first?” “Well, W. Parker,” Tom replied, “you have a weight advantage, and I also suspect you played college football (Bozo played polo,) and you are younger, so maybe I should go first.” Bozo thought, “This should be easy,” but he said, “Sounds fair to me,” and no sooner had the words come out of Bozo’s mouth than Tom hauled off and kicked him in the shin.
For just a moment there was a stillness in the air--and then came a howl that could have been heard by kids in the school yard clear on the other side of town. People stopped in the parking lot of the Piggly-Wiggly grocery and looked up. And Bozo, eyes bulging and face contorted grotesquely, fell to the ground in bitter agony, spouting a stream of 4-letter words at the top of his voice. He began calling out for help....to God, to Muffy, to his mother....even to Miss Cahill, his 8th grade teacher with the magnificent body, whom as a young boy, he worshipped. There he was, rolling around on the lush grass, beet red, leg swelling, thinking, "What a way to die...from one kick from a hayseed farmer, no less."
Tom just stood there observing his work. For half an hour the scene played out until Bozo came to the realization that he would, in fact, live. He had cried all the tears in him, and had used every expletive that had ever been deleted. He was grateful his beautiful wife Muffy was probably absorbed in her morning pour faire votre toilette, and so did not witness his pathetic reaction to a simple kick in the shin. Tom stuck out his hand to help Bozo stand up, but it was swatted away. "Whoa, Tommy boy, you must have some serious hardening of your foot arteries.'' He was testing his other leg, "Now old man, get ready. It's my turn." "Well" said Tom, "you gave me a lot of time to think, W. And as a good neighbor, which I always strive to be, I think after that wonderful, first time shot, you should have this bird. Take it home, and bless you.” With this Thomas Franklin Ward walked off toward his back door.
"O people, the Lord has already told you what is good, and this is what he requires...to do justice...to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:6
Wouldn’t it be great to humble the arrogant, the unjust and selfish, and arrange their comeuppance ourselves? Take the matter into our own hands, and answer the question "who do they think they are?" with some realities we think they ignore. Ah, yes. Sweet retribution...in God's name ... from our own hands. But that is not what Jesus teaches us. Hard as it may seem to believe, in this troubled world, love is the answer. Love unconditional, persistent, just and forgiving, love that has done its homework, love because there is no other way.
Now I think the end of the story above is that Tom the farmer went into his house and prayed for God to forgive him for thinking he could mete out justice, knowing full well that his plan was rigged in his favor from the very start.
We all like the set up when we know in advance we can prevail. But prevailing belongs to God. All we can do is pray and trust...pray and trust. --Tim
