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FROM THE BACKWOODS PEW
Melody in B Over the years, I have found that I am growing older! I do not move through the woods with the same energy and coordination, which is a Antill fancy way of saying I get tired and stumble more now. But I remember a time, a particular day in fact, when the idea of the Olympics and world fame were not so far-fetched. Mercury with his winged feet would have had to put it in overdrive to have stayed with me that day. Deer dropped their heads in shame as I streaked past them. Rabbits screamed for my autograph as I left them in the dust of my dash. It was certainly a jawdropping, eyes-bugging-out display of athletic prowess. It was not the jolt of a soda or the sugar-high from breakfast, but a song that moved me that day. A song that began first as a distant hum: faint, an echo on the wind. Perhaps it was the wind. The sound was weak, scarcely able to hold my attention. Soon it began to amplify, to swell in both its splendor and its clarity. As that beautiful melody began to reverberate in my ear, it began to move me. Like any good piece of music, it took hold of my mind, making me want to become a part of the majestic anthem, and to add my voice to it.
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Without hesitation, and with no formal training, mind you, I lifted up my voice and sang out for all to hear. Birds sitting in the trees that day have yet to sing so great, as was their embarrassment to have heard a voice like mine. Even today, so many years later, I can still remember the words to that song, that melodious sonnet that I sang from my very soul…actually it was because of my sole, the right one first, then the left one, as both soles had found themselves resting on top of a nest of ground bees! As the awakened ground bees poured out of their nest, covering my legs, my voice sang the most feared song in the swamp, “BEES!!!” It is not the cottonmouth that rules the swamp or strikes terror into the forester, it is the bee. A simple creature, but one that always comes to the party with friends, lots of friends. Running into a bees’ nest, either in a tree we are measuring or ground we are walking over, is never a good thing. Since it is usually a nest the forester steps on or bumps, the odds are the forester will get stung more than once. On that particular day in question, the number of stings neared triple digits. But what a dash. To see a forester motivated to run through the woods with a hive of bees in close pursuit is a sight to see. His first move is to run towards any partners in the woods with him, in hopes the bees will split off and attack his “former” friends. If that fails, he heads for water or the
truck. When he is nearing a major cardio-infarction, he removes his hat and makes his last stand there in the woods. Flailing away like an ancient knight of old, he desperately tries to knock back the mob of angry bees. Exhausted, hurting, swelling, the forester’s day is over. He must make it back to the truck for the Benadryl, or the ammonia, or whatever he carries in the glove compartment to deal with stings and bites. If he is allergic to bee stings, he opens his notebook to begin his last will and testament. Have you ever had a day like that? Exhausted, hurting, and eyes swelled with tears. You have been flailing at the air, fighting an unseen foe, striving to be strong but with every swing the pain of another hit, another sting. A friend has failed you; a job was lost; an addiction continues to control; what you thought was forever has ended. Time you thought was on your side has left the building. Maybe it was more than just a day; maybe it was a week or a year or maybe it’s the story of your life. One sting after another. With each hopeless swat, another cry comes from your lips. Life on the bee’s nest will make you run. The prophet Isaiah records this description of Jesus in his book, in chapter 42 and verse 3. It shows how he will respond to people who are hurting:“A bruised reed He will not break, and smoking flax He will not quench; He will bring forth justice for truth.”
MARCH 2021 l Southern Loggin’ Times
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Don’t miss that. A bruised reed is one that has already been pushed over. It’s bent, it won’t straighten up. It is ready to be broken. It has no strength to stand up on its own any more. Picture the candle with no flame left to light the way, darkness is surrounding it, only a faint glow is left on the wick. Jesus comes to us, as we flail away at life. We are bruised and battered. He longs to hold us in his hands, and to caress us gently with a soft breath; he wants to give us the strength to stand and regain the glow of life and of light. Isaiah continues in verses 6 & 7: “I, the LORD, have called You in righteousness, and will hold Your hand; I will keep You and give You as a covenant to the people, as a light to the Gentiles, to open blind eyes, to bring out prisoners from the prison, those who sit in darkness from the prison house.” Nothing we face is greater than what Jesus can do for us. No surprise in our life is a surprise to him. He waits, longing for us to surrender to him, to give him our pain, to take the stings of this life for us. Stop singing about the bees; stop running through the woods; fall into the arms of Jesus, and “Sing to the LORD a new song, and His praise from the end of the earth…” (Isaiah 42: 10a). Excerpted from Faith, Fur, and Forestry, Brad Antill author Find it and more at www.onatree forestry.com
