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For Wilshire Baptist Church

I mowed the lawn for the first time last week. While the grass is still mostly dormant, the weeds are in full bloom – especially the dandelions with their bright yellow flowers and tall stalks topped with wispy white seedheads.

If you’ve ever mowed dandelions, you know they don’t go away without a fight. The flowers — pretty but invasive — are close to the ground and usually escape the wrath of the blade. The stalks, on the other hand, stand tall and defiant as if to taunt you. Accepting the challenge, you push the mower forward thinking “this’ll get’em,” only to look behind you and find many of the stalks have simply bent over and popped back up. So, it takes several passes of the mower from different directions to cut them down.

Continue reading “The Parable of the Dandelions”

For Wilshire Baptist Church

The house across the street from us is getting a new paint job this week. It’s a wonderful old wood-frame house with a good front porch, big windows, some intricate woodwork and nice roof lines and angles all around. From the street you couldn’t really tell it needed fresh paint, but the owners know best.

According to the tax rolls, the house was built in 1948, so it’s 11 years older than me. It reminds me of the houses on the small-town streets where my grandparents lived. I grew up in suburbia where concrete slab foundations and brick veneer walls were the latest and greatest thing. Admittedly, there’s a lot to be said for the strength of bricks and concrete, but wood-frame houses on pier-and-beam foundations have always had a certain appeal to me. Somehow, they’ve always felt more “alive”; something about the slight bounce of the floorboards and the almost-perceptible movement of the wood behind the walls gives the house a living, breathing feel.

Continue reading “Neighboring”

For Wilshire Baptist Church

Sitting in lawn chairs under the trees on the first day of March, Mom and I talked about a lot of different things. We also watched as others around us tended to the details of life, death and forever.

We met at Restland Cemetery to put flowers on my sister Martha’s grave the day before her birthday on March 2. Mom texted me that morning and asked me to meet her “for 15 minutes or less.” Her promise of brevity was not lost on me, because we’re not a family that likes to hang out at the cemetery. But, it was a warm, pleasant afternoon, and I decided we might do something different this time. I’d seen how folks bring chairs and sit around the graves of loved ones at Garland Memorial Cemetery near our house, and I decided that might be a nice thing to do.

Continue reading “This Side of Forever”