Make A Leaf?

Could you make a leaf for me?

One leaf.  That’s all I ask.

Just one green or yellow or red leaf.  Let’s say...a maple leaf.

I don’t mean that I want you to draw a leaf for me.  I don’t want you to make one out of clay or fabric or wood.  Don’t bother tracing one on construction paper.

I wonder if you could make just one of those feathery, manufacturing dynamos that are falling in the billions around us right now.  It shouldn’t be hard.  There are bushels full of them just outside your door for you to study.

If you feel up to it, try making one that: 

-has a giant sun collector panel on it, one that can automatically turn itself towards the sun,

-has a big bunch of little tubes --microscopic tubes-- running through it in an intricate branching system

-can appear all by itself at just the right time in spring,

-can attach itself to a limb on a tree,

-is strong enough to withstand pelting rain, windstorms and droughts,

-can spend 6 or 7 months cooking up good food to send to the tree,

-is equipped with little breather holes to take bad things out of the air and replace those bad things with purified, oxygen laden air.

And if you don’t mind,  when this single leaf has weathered wind, hail, rain and scorching sun through spring and summer and has come to the end of its life, could you make it have one last hurrah?  Could you send it off in a blaze of colorful glory intense enough and beautiful enough to inspire poets and photographers and even little children?

God must have a hearty laugh every fall when the leaves let loose and take flight. We can’t make even 1 leaf.  One single leaf outstrips all of our technology. But God makes zillions of them every year----and then lets the work of his hands rain down upon  us in a blizzard of color.  These intricate machines --- manufacturing plants that give the tree what it needs to soar scores of feet into the air, and to build trunks and branches that can live hundreds of years --- are tossed to the ground to give all their intricacies back to the earth.

The creator jettisons every last one of these miracles of his hand,  tossing them to the wind,  knowing that he can do it all over again come spring.

Yes, there are terrorists, snipers, disease, hurricanes and war around these days..

They seem very powerful, but if you’ll pick up a leaf, you’ll know who is really in control and that, in the end, all will be well. 

Thankful for the Crust

Now that we're getting into the pumpkin pie season, I'll need to be fine tuning my pie eating skills.  I bet you will too. What's your technique?  


Personally, I am very careful when it comes to the crust.  Oh, I eat the crust.  I'm not one of those wasteful people who disdainfully lop it off and leave it sitting on the edge of the plate like a pile of chicken bones, good for nothing except as an offering for the garbage can.  But there's a time and place for crust, and it has to be handled deftly.


Sometimes I wonder about crust.  It almost seems like it is one of those things you could do without. Crust, by itself, isn't very appealing. Couldn't you just cook the pumpkin filling in a big bowl and then scoop out what you want and forget about the crust?  I think I remember my mother making pumpkin pie and having extra filling which she would pour into a mini pie pan without benefit of crust, and it tasted just like the real thing.


Crust does come in handy though, especially on Thanksgiving night, when you take a break from the football game, and you pass through the kitchen and see the remains of the pumpkin pie sitting there. As long as you're passing by, you might as well slice off a sliver of the pie, grab it by the crust, balance it on your hand and guide it into your mouth -- and it will all be gone by the time you get back to the living room and no one will ever know, unless they smell your pumpkin breath!


But here's my usual method for pumpkin pie disposal. (I'm starting to feel like Martha Stewart!)  First, slice off the point, stab it, and slide it into your mouth.  Next, slice off the second row, cut it in half and slide those two pieces in.  The third row usually divides nicely into three mouthfulls for the slice, stab and slide routine. That normally leaves just the fourth row and the crust.  I like to tip the pie on its back at this point so that I can sever the crust with just a little bit of pumpkin with it, leaving the main part of the fourth row to be divided into fourths and dispatched to tummyland.  


There are two things you never want to do.  First, you never want to eat the crust by itself, without some pumpkin attached.  Second, you never want to eat the crust last.  Always save at least one full crustless piece for your last bite.


I suppose I shouldn't be so hard on crust.  I guess you can't have pie without it.  It does hold the pie together.  It does provide a certain crunch and texture.  It does provide variety in the pie eating endeavor.  It does let you know you're getting to the end.  And I guess it doesn't taste really BAD.  Martha says she even likes plain crust, especially if she can sprinkle brown sugar on it.


There is a lot of "crust" in life,too, a lot of things that seem dull, tasteless, dry and not needed.  There's a lot of life that is routine and not very exciting.  It's not all pumpkin pie filling.  There's a lot of crust. Washing dishes, brushing teeth, vacuuming the rug, taking the trash out, laundry, changing your car's oil, doing taxes: in my book, it's all crust.  But maybe some of these things are what hold life together too.  Maybe we need a contrast between what is flashy and juicy and the more ordinary things of life.  You can do a lot of thinking and reflecting while your brushing your teeth, I have found.  This thanksgiving, give thanks for the crust.  It's all part of God's generous gift to us.

The Parson Ponders: Thanksgiving According to the Nail Holes

November 2010

There's something going on at our house in the two front rooms. The wallpaper has come off, and the plaster walls are getting a major upgrade. Paint is coming next, the first paint to touch these walls since the house was constructed in 1914.

There’s never been paint, but there HAS been wallpaper. Five layers of wallpaper coated the walls and ceiling when we took our steamer to it. Peeling back the latest wallpaper layer of pink hearts on white background of the 1980s, revealed the yellow paisley of the 70s, the much loved green Miracle Mart special of the 60s (if you know what the Miracle Mart was, you are a thrifty old timer from these parts!), the brown stripes of the late 50s, and finally, the original white floral and stripes that endured the longest, from the beginning of the house up until the 1950's. That 1914 wall covering still looked pretty good when Martha carefully removed the upper layers to expose some of it. My brothers and I can reconstruct our lives by recalling the aura of each of those layers.

But what really sets the plate for me as I approach Thanksgiving this year is all of the nail holes in my walls. Instead of patching the nail holes before applying another layer of wallpaper, my family simply left the holes and covered them with a new layer of wallpaper. The holes were covered and forgotten. But when all those layers came off, we saw every nail hole that ever was filled by a nail that held some treasured picture. 

Some nail holes were made way back in 1914. Their nails held pictures of family and loved ones, artistic renderings of God's bounty and the beautiful world around us. Some of the now missing nails anchored drawings made by the kids and grandkids, or Christmas and Easter decorations, or perhaps, some biblical wisdom couched on a plaque or card.

In one favored spot on the wall, over where a chair usually sat, I counted 75 nail holes! That's a lot of holes, that held a lot of nails, that held a lot of beauty and memories! But even more, that's a lot of Thanksgiving. To me, every nail driven into that plaster is a prayer of thanksgiving. It celebrates some gift of God that the family wanted to hold up and remember. On that one spot on that wall, at least 75 times, some member of my family, or the other families that lived here before us, went to it, and with their hammer and nail, pounded out a joyful noise of thanksgiving to our good and gracious God!

Maybe there are holes in your walls too, or maybe you patched yours before you tapped in new nails. Maybe there are people, places, and biblical gems you treasure and want to remember that have warranted a nail and a nail hole in your wall. It’s a good place to start your Thanksgiving this year. The nails hold the story of all we have received from God’s hand. There’s a thankful wonder about nails and nail holes, starting with the nails of the cross, which held up our greatest gift! Happy Thanksgiving!