I attended this week the church of my brother in order to participate in the blessing of my 9th nephew; John, a kind name. At such gatherings I’m always impressed and assured by the strength of good family. Standing in a circle of brothers, grandfathers, fathers, and uncles I felt like we were a wall around this small boy. Each one dedicated to protect, teach, guide and love the small life which was just beginning.
This is not actually John, but his older brother James
That same day the ward was also holding a funeral for a young woman who had fallen during a repelling trip. Even as the ranks were swollen by family come to welcome in a new child they were also swollen by family come to console the loss of another. How terribly symmetric it seemed to me. In the deep rain forests seed litter the ground waiting to sprout for a break in the canopy above. They cannot survive unless one of the elder giants falls and leaves a gap of light and a source of nutrients to nurture the new saplings. Death is required for life.
As an ecologist I’ve studied population growth patterns and I recognize that humanity is growing far faster than it is shrinking. We have more births than deaths each year. Not every baby blessing requires a funeral. Not immediately anyway.
They also had in that ward a missionary returning from his tour of duty in the deep south of Australia. After he gave a thorough report of each transfer he left a few minutes for a freshly called missionary to farewell his family and ward as he prepared to head out into the same field of labor though in a different part of the world. Missionaries seem so tightly bound to these cycles of coming and going, learning and growing. Six weeks here, a few months there, and then it ends. You return home hopefully a little better than you left and prepared to continue growing. A new missionary is called to fill your spot and continue the work. There isn’t necessarily a homecoming for every farewell. Not immediately anyway. The ranks of the missionaries do swell at times.
Someday, I’ll be done with my time in the sun. Maybe I’ve got 60 years and will someday preside over family gatherings the way my 80 year old grandfather does, with a twinkle in each eye and a full plate of food. Or maybe, like that young woman, someday I’ll make a mistake with a knot, or a rope, or jump a cliff that is a little farther than it looks and the prayers of the ward will be offered up in behalf of my suddenly smaller family. Either way, eventually I’ll find myself in a simple pine box, ready to return the nutrients I’ve borrowed back to the rich dark earth. If you have a beginning there must be an ending.
So what will I do with the short time I have here in the sun? 25 years? 50 years? 80 years? However long the time I get this chance to grow. I get this chance to stand in the gap in the canopy and push my leaves into the sun. I shade the ground and provide food and shelter to the creatures around me. I watch others come and grow and welcome the new ones as treasures and mourn the loneliness left by the old. I grow, I age, I return to dust. Leaving behind the organic things that supported my life and taking with me the things my life supported. So the mission continues and another gap is left filled with sunlight.
Great post, Riley =)