Good morning church family,
Standing on his back deck; sipping his morning coffee and surveying the yard, Warren Butterfield was wondering to himself, “When is the best time of year for a family of red squirrels to go homeless?”
Warren was in his pajamas but had put his coat on before stepping outside. Steam poured off the top of his mug like a smoke stack as he struck a stoic pose; one hand in coat pocket and the other wrapped around the warm ceramic cup. His wife and kids were inside and still asleep in their beds but Warren was up and at ‘em; eager to make the most of his Saturday. He had a pretty decent punch list for the day. Warren aimed to get the last of the leaves out of the yard and into the woods, take the patio furniture off the deck and tuck it away in the garage, shut down the riding mower, tune up the snow blower, and stack the couple cords of split wood he’d had delivered earlier in the week. And if all that got done with any daylight to spare, Warren’s wife had one more job for him.
“Warren,” his wife Beth had said one warm autumn evening as they sat out on the deck enjoying the twilight, “that brush pile of yours looks awful. Can’t you pile that up somewhere else where we don’t have to look at it all the time?”
“Honey,” Warren playfully replied, “this isn’t exactly the palace gardens back here. That’s the Vermont wilderness you’re looking at. That brush pile is the quaint, bucolic display of a gentleman farmer hard at work. Embrace it.”
“’Bucolic’? Really?” Beth came back at him. “Good grief. Well, listen, if I’m forced to embrace that brush pile – I’m just warning you – that might be the only thing I end up embracing around here.”
“Is that a threat?” Warren asked as he leaned in for a kiss.
Beth just made a face while turning to give Warren nothing more than her cheek. The brush pile would have to go.
But now, standing there on his deck; the early morning chill finding its way past his coat and sending a shiver up his spine, Warren was plagued by an unsettling thought. All summer long and throughout the fall, he’d noticed that a family of red squirrels had taken up residence in the aforementioned brush pile that was located in the back corner of the yard. Several times, he’d stopped what he was doing to watch as the handsome little creatures scurried and scampered across the lawn or into the woods beyond. Less common than their grayish cousins, Warren thought the rusty-colored rodents to be smart-looking and even adorable. When collecting the downed tree limbs that fell in summer wind storms, Warren was careful to place them gently atop the pile; not wanting to damage the squirrels’ nest or make them anxious. His care and concern for the little critter family had not been a conscious one up to this point; even though his eye was often drawn to that part of the property in hopes of spying one of them.
Taking another sip of his cooling coffee, Warren began considering what might happen to the squirrels if he pulled the brush pile apart and dragged it into the woods. “With the cold and snow coming,” he thought to himself, “how quickly could those squirrels build another nest?” Continuing to think, he asked himself, “I wonder if they have any little ones nesting in there? That would sure be awful if I dumped those poor things out onto the cold forest floor.”
Warren shook his head and turned to go back inside. He was resolved to do nothing about the brush pile without looking into the matter further. “Anyway you look at it,” he argued to himself as he stepped back into the wonderfully warm house, “I really ought to wait until next summer and give the little guys a few months to find new accommodations.” He was hopeful Beth would agree.
Warren poured a second cup of coffee and pulled one of his wife’s blueberry muffins out of the bread box. He turned the lights on over the dining room table and pulled his Bible from off of the top of the China cabinet. Sitting down, he opened up to the Psalms. Everyone now and again, Warren liked to read through the Psalms in one of the months with thirty days in it. Reading five psalms a day; he could work his way through the whole hymnal in a calendar month.
Having finished both muffins (Warren had been back to the bread box midway through his first psalm of the day), he took his mug in one hand and leaned back in his chair; propping the Bible atop his crossed legs. Warren enjoyed these quiet times of stillness. Over the buzzing hum of the refrigerator, the whoosh of the humidifier fan blowing down the hallway, and the neighbor’s car warming up across the road, Warren listened for the voice of God. He read Scripture in the same way one might take a leisurely walk in the woods. He wasn’t there to map it all out, to chop anything down, to hunt for trophies, or to get his exercise in for the day. He wasn’t hoping to find anything in particular on his jaunt but he wasn’t avoiding adventure either. He just loved being in the woods, so to speak. He loved tramping in the wild environment of the Scriptures; shutting his mouth to open his eyes to the wonderful perfection of the Word and all the pristine beauty captured in every expression of the heart and mind of God. His best devotional times were ones that were unhurried and free of slavish duty and obligation.
Sitting at his dining room table, Warren was enjoying one of these walks in the woods when the Lord suddenly stood in Warren’s way instead of walking beside him. Warren had just begun reading Psalm 8 when verse 4 stopped him dead in his tracks. “What is man,” King David had asked there, “that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?”
“How is it, Warren,” the Lord inquired, “that you care enough about red squirrels to worry about their salvation from the cold but that you don’t care enough about your fellow man to worry about his salvation from hell? Don’t you know that I’ve called you to be mindful of him and to care for him?”
In the otherwise neat and tidy world of Warren’s faith, his reticence to share the Gospel with others was an eyesore to the Lord. Warren was suddenly haunted by the recollection of several opportunities for sharing that he’d been given in the past week but which he’d allowed to go by the boards.
Warren placed the Bible and his coffee mug back on the table and pushed his chair out. He slid down onto his knees and prayed a simple prayer. “Lord,” he began, “thank you for putting this stumbling stone in my path this morning. I’m going to put this at the top of my punch list today and for the week to come. With your help, any opportunity you give me – I’ll try and take it. I don’t want to see any of your creatures left out in the cold.”
We’re looking forward to gathering together tomorrow morning and enjoying fellowship with one another and communion with our Lord. It’s the first Sunday of Advent! It’s going to be so good to replace our longing with desires fulfilled. May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!
– Pastor Tate
