The Wild Places

A few months ago I moved to a little house in Falls Church, VA along with two others. We love the little cracker-box that it is, sitting on a good sized yard with two giant maples arching across the backyard. The Lord orchestrated the timing of our move and our temperaments beautifully, as a conductor who keeps perfect time and knows each instruments’ part.

We loved the little house and called it “The Greenhouse” soon after moving in. It’s a place with loads of light, countless plants in pots inside and out. There is a general atmosphere of life, growth, and lots of green. We're all doing some growing.

Spring came, and one housekeeping need quickly became apparent: we needed a lawnmower. Desperately. Our generous neighbor across the street mowed the front yard (and continues to, graciously, despite our protests that we’re working on getting a mower as soon as possible) on a weekly basis—mostly from the goodness of his heart, and perhaps partly so he doesn’t have to stare at a gangly yard across the street.

It looked great- all trim and green with zinnias sprouting and window boxes blooming from a welcoming front porch. Totally tidy and well-kept. However, after weeks of rain, sun, and negligence to purchase a mower due to busyness and weekends away, the backyard became a small prairie. I think of it as a wildlife preserve. The grass quickly grew from knee-high to waist-high seemingly overnight.

I began the search for someone equipped with the heavy-duty tools to tackle that backyard. I spoke with a gentleman and his lawn crew who were working on a neighbor’s yard.

I remember the unlatching of the gate and swinging it wide open to show the wilderness habitat we had unknowingly fostered…then shutting it, as if our pet dragon lay sleeping there. We couldn’t let the neighbors know what was hiding there. Dangerous. Wild. Untamed. And certainly unsightly.

“That will take a while,” he said in his thick Spanish accent, before naming his price.

We ended up employing a different neighbor across the street—a guy recommended to us who cut grass from time to time when he wasn’t growing his dreds out or stocking shelves at Whole Foods.

This episode, shallow and mundane as it seemed, had a shadow-side that followed me around begging me to pay attention. What was I supposed to learn from this besides the obvious lesson in lawn-care? To keep it up.

What are my own wild places? Where has the grass grown too tall from neglect? What do I keep hidden behind tall fences and gates latched tight too long? In what ways do I keep things pretty out front for others to admire while elsewhere things are unruly beyond my control? Whatever you do, don't set foot in my mosquito-ridden backyard. It will eat you alive. I am so quick to suppress, to latch the gate and turn a blind-eye to my internal wreckage.

This spring I opened the gate to the wild places:

Pride. Some sense of elitism. Fear. Discontent. Some apathy mingled in. (Cringe.) So much I do not care to expose.

But the truth remains that nothing is so far gone that it cannot be redeemed.

It is possible that overgrown backyards may be, to quote lines from an Amy Imbody poem,

“transformed, redeemed-
to be some higher, holier thing
than it had seemed.”

the dragon

Happy Chinese New Year!

It's no surprise that this year would be "the year of the dragon." It's a theme I keep noticing. We started the year in Kindergarten studying "Dinosaurs and dragons" to begin the year-long theme "Real vs. Pretend". This has every bit as much application for a 25 year old as it does for 5-6 year olds.

Stay with me.

We read the classic, "Saint George and the Dragon" the legend of England’s patron saint. I had never heard this story until it came up in a conversation sparked by artwork depicting Saint George. This was when I first heard the Latin phrase I would later sing with a class of Kindergarteners, da ferrum et monstra draconem. It translates, Give me a sword and show me the dragon.

Fightin’ words.

Words that penetrated my heart immediately.

St. George's story begins, "In the days when monsters and dragons, and fairy-folks lived..." We were hooked. A dragon is terrorizing a village—not a pretty sight. King, Queen, and townspeople are beside themselves of course, and the only way to end the terror is to surrender Princess Iona to the dragon. Hand her over, and all is well.

Enter the no-name Red-Cross Knight, who we learn is more than meets the eye. He learns that he is the son of a King. This message is delivered along with the commission that he must, “Go down into the valley to fight the dragon you were born to fight.” The plot thickens. The Red-Cross Knight, learning his true identity journeys day and night until he comes to the oppressed village.

Against all odds and all amounts of dragon-like, fiery aggression, and after three grueling battles, Saint George kills the dragon. At last, all is well—thanks to Saint George whose heroism has long been awaited. And there was much rejoicing.



So why am I hung up on Saint George?

Because his fight is our own; and in the journey of things Real vs. Pretend, this is real. We are up against equally oppressive dragons.

There are the small skirmishes of the soul. I fight the voice that tells me I must be productive with every second of my time. I fight discouragement when a dear friend undergoes surgery after surgery. And I battle loneliness in a new city when my world seems suddenly small...

We fight the lies that wait outside our door. We fight an I-pad culture in which our happiness and our own well-being are the ultimate goals that drive our days. We fight our need for validation and approval.

Such battles seem insignificant in perspective with a bigger picture, a dragon that lurks in the darkness. Last night I saw a preview for a Nicholas Cage movie that I found disturbing on several grounds. One being the general darkness of it, the flaming skulls, and chains whipping around; two, the words that flashed across the screen as all this unfolds: “Hell has come…” This is scary. And we are entertained?

The good news is this-- we are not just on the defense here. Thankfully there is a greater cause for which we fight. For Truth. The Gospel. Life and Light. Joy. Beauty. Freedom. Justice. Reconciliation. God’s Kingdom come. The Kingdom we’re fighting for is more beautiful than St. George’s. It’s real. The Kingdom of Heaven is in our midst, and we have a God who equips and trains us to fight for it.

“He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze…” Psalm 18:33.

“You armed me with strength for battle,” (Ps. 18:39).

Rest assured, you are held by One whose hands are infinitely stronger than your own. You are not alone. You are fighting with and for One who is greater than any dragon you might face. May this phrase be the prayer and battle cry on our lips—

Give me a sword, and show me the dragon.