It's a wonder our willow tree has any life left at all. This spring the deer discovered it. Strolling through our yard from a nearby field, they thought it was a bark buffet. They chewed and ripped and chomped. But nothing seems to kill this stubborn little sapling: cold winters, nasty winds, or ravenous wildlife. Somehow it keeps springing back.
Our Russian olive tree is another matter. It thrives in sandy soil—ours is dirt black. It loves a drought—I over-water it. One Saturday, I spent the entire morning digging its lifeless body from our front yard and laying it to rest in two-foot sections near our backyard fireplace. Then I replaced it with a stubborn little willow. (A friend suggested an easy solution to the deer problem. Every time you cut your hair, wrap it in pantyhose and hang a little from the tree. It works. Really. The deer avoid the tree. And eat your shrubs.)
It's the same with people. Some are Russian olives. And some are willow-like—resilient, flexible, growing strong. You've met them. Folks who force you to pause and wonder, “How do they manage to climb out of bed each morning and plant both feet on the floor?” I think of friends whose children battle muscular dystrophy, depression, alcoholism, and drug-abuse, and of friends who have lost jobs, spouses, or faith in their fellow man.
I've been thinking about some of them lately and the things they share in common. I guess what characterizes them is this: they are thankful people. They laugh more than they have reason to. They compare up, not down. And they are people of deep faith in God and His Word, the Bible.
Scott and Connie Mitchell were our neighbours when I was first married. We watched movies together and laughed even if the movie wasn't funny. Connie always wanted to know the end of the movie near the beginning and Scott would say, “Watch, you'll see.”
By the time the Mitchells entered ministry at a Portland, Oregon church, their son Jonathan's behaviour had grown dangerous. By 13 he was abusing alcohol and drugs and soon graduated to crystal meth. “We dedicated him to God even before he was conceived,” said Connie. “He was so loved and wanted. Why was this happening?”
The drugs made Jonathan paranoid and soon he had purchased a .22 calibre handgun. One awful night he tried to force his way into the Mitchell's locked house to get a pair of shoes. Gripping the gun with his left hand, he shattered the glass, unlocked the door, grabbed his shoes, and left—completely unaware that the weapon had discharged.
Connie came running at the sound and found her husband standing at the bottom of the stairs. The lone bullet had penetrated his pulmonary artery. Scott died in her arms.
Stunned and devastated, Jonathan accepted responsibility and pled guilty. Still, at 23, he was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to 11 years in prison.
In the following weeks, Connie pored over Scott's personal journals. One entry caught her attention: “When I am tested I will come forth as gold.”
“I may not know where God is in all this, but I know that He is involved,” she said. “I knew that I would drown if I concentrated on the what-ifs, so I asked God to keep me focused on His love and goodness. As that focus became a habit, it gradually became possible to pray that God would somehow bring glory through this mess and use me as His instrument to bring hope to others who are in the midst of pain and grief.
“Scott had told friends that he would gladly give his own life if it would make a difference for Jonathan. And our son has been given a second chance. He finally has a clear mind. He is healthy and drug-free and learning to make wise choices.
“God is helping me see that He has a much bigger eternal plan. He knows the end of the story and some day we will see the whole picture. In the meantime I am content to trust in His goodness and love.”
Connie knows she's not through the valley, that more challenges lie ahead. I'm sure there are times she wonders how she'll make it, if God will be big enough—how the movie will end. I like to picture Scott smiling at her courage and her questions and her faith. Perhaps he is saying, “Watch, you'll see.”
