Just Another Father's Pride

There's no way of saying this without sounding cheesy. Some things by their nature beg being tuned out or forgotten because of their commonness. If I say, I'm often amazed by my sons, that I cannot explain how they became the good men they are, that their choices and decisions reflect a degree of thoughtfulness and faith that is beyond me, well I'm just another father talking. 

But strangely, I who am used to addressing more esoteric subjects, feel the need to float this most basic of human emotions out in the universe somewhere. I was up at 3:30 this morning thinking of how proud I am of my sons. I see what they are giving their lives to -- that young people in Vancouver and Fresno would know the life-changing message of Jesus the Christ. They have both married women who are in every way beyond our highest dreams. They surround themselves with friends of quality who laugh and serve and provide this amazing extended family. And I am left with a sense of gratitude and the humility to know that, in spite of my fallenness, God has gifted them up to be who they are.

So I guess its not just a run-of-the-mill Father's pride that kept me up. Its amazement that I get to witness the fulfillment of all those prayers in the night a couple of decades ago when they were feeding or teething. Its amazement that someone with my particular set of sins and limitations gets to see the improvement of the species through grace alone. And its amazement and gratitude that they still care to hang out with me from time to time.

OK, maybe its just run-of-the-mill Father's pride.

In the Forest of Promise

It's raining now, and the forested  hill out my window is  gracefully shedding the deluge into eager rivulets that lead to the creek at the edge of Ray and Corean Bakke's home in northern Washington.  Winding through this land, Ray has crafted a 500 foot "Mission Trail," a soft, pine-needle carpeted pathway under a canopy of Douglas Fir, Red Cedar, and Hemlock. Markers every 100 feet or so celebrate the influence of missional Christians throughout the ages, folks like John of Damascus, St. Francis of Assisi, Benedict of Nursia,  Martin Luther, etc. Ray has produced a guidebook for the trail, helping the hiker to reflect on the way the world is different because those people followed the climb God had them on.  Occasionally there are signs posted that indicate when certain ones of God's people, Luther or John Knox or others 500 years or more previous, were ministering when the tree you are standing in front of had first started to grow. The trail ends in a circle of benches, a chapel in the woods, complete with a cedar pulpit and stone baptismal font.  Here, it's easy to reflect on the amazing legacy of costly leadership that we operate under today, almost like the great canopy of Hemlock and Cedar that dance above that chapel.

I have walked this trail a few times over the years.  It has never failed to raise my expectations of what a life committed to Christ could be.  I walked it again yesterday, when it wasn't raining. Golden sun filtered through spaces in the canopy and, fell on amber colored humus,  sharp shale and granite rock formations, and lacey spiderwebs sparkling across the path.   Ray has planted more than 3,000 saplings on his property in the last four years, and they have been welcomed into the fellowship of older trees.  As I  reflect on these trees, it occurs to me that someone 500 years from now might choose to extend this mission trail and post another sign, which will say, "when this tree began to grow, Ray Bakke taught a generation to love their cities and seek their transformation." 

I am often lost in thought on this trail, but never in danger of being lost in the forest, though the continuous tunnel of green beckons you around corner after corner. Occasionally there are living splashes of color that act as landmarks: a Huckleberry bush with its edible red berries,  a deep plum Japanese maple, or a holly-leafed, Oregon wild grape. One of these splashes jumped out to a startle me as I rounded a bend,  resulting in the following haiku:

Surprise hydrangea

Prankster flow'r of the forest

Blue marks my way home

Part of me wants to be one of those colorful splashes, a landmark.  But in my saner moments, I know that I really just want to be a sapling planted in the company of elders. As I transition to working closely with Ray's international ministry over these next few years, I know that my branches will take on their own shape. I know that I will reach to drink in the sun at the edge of his remarkable shadow. And I pray that I will grow to be a tree that takes its place in the forest of promise.