"And you, child, will be called prophet
of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give his people knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness
of their sins, because the tender mercy of our God by which the daybreak
from on high will visit us to shine on those who sit in darkness and
death's shadow, to guide our feet into the path of peace."
Luke 1:76-79
Sometimes the brilliance of a hot summer day can take away all
the complexity of life. Misunderstanding is shorn away when sun beats
down upon the well trod earth, the greenness of the grass stands out,
and beads of sweat form on the brow of an old man, a grandfather weeding
his garden.
Through the eyes of a child, a mere youngster of five or six, the
world can be simple. This young child is beautiful in the way that
children are beautiful. The innocent expression of a beautiful, young
child is upon this young boy's face as he watches his grandfather
pull weeds one by one.
The wrinkles and steady, callused hands contrast sharply with the
pudgy, little fingers of the child. The grandfather's eyes are deep,
and as blue as the sky so bright above the two that day, and his hair
is the deepest shade of gray. In those deep, blue eyes, and dark,
aged hair seems to lie a wisdom. And what is a wise man? The features
of the old man bring forth such questions from the very earth for
which the old man is now caring. Is a wise man old? Does wisdom come
with age? What can life teach a person who lives it?
The little boy is in awe of his grandfather. There is no doubt in
his mind that his grandfather knows all the answers, that his grandfather's
wisdom has come with his age, and that life has taught his grandfather
everything there is to know.
The little boy's eyes are just as deep and blue as his grandfather's,
but their depth is yet to be filled. This child has a life before
him, a life that is bound to teach him many, many lessons.
The child's hair separates him from his grandfather. Where his grandfather's
hair is of the deepest gray, this child has hair so pale that it is
almost white.
A great silence also keeps the child and old man apart. A great absence
of noise is contrived by the pulling of weeds in a simple garden on
a beautiful summer day. The crickets chirp in the background, and
the wind whistles gently through the stand of pine trees as the old
man's hands move steadily from weed to weed, eliciting only a single
jerk. Then the profound moment is broken, the old man shifts his position,
as the area around him becomes free of weeds.
"You could help me," the old man says to the child.
"Okay."
The child crouches next to his grandfather, and the weeds are pulled
just a little bit faster.
"Why do we have to pull all these weeds, Grandpa?" the child
asks.
"The plants will get choked if we don't get rid of the weeds."
"But weeds are plants, aren't they?"
"Do you eat weeds, Tommy?"
"...No."
The child and his grandfather fall silent now as they pull the dandelions,
baby pig-weeds, and scattered patches of rye from the carrots around
which they are working. The child's face is a picture of deep thought
as he sorts through the answer his grandfather gave him. The birds
continue to chirp, and the clouds move across the sky as wisps of
distant cotton puffs.
"Why did God make weeds then?"
The grandfather purses his lips, and wipes the sweat from his creased
forehead. "Everything has a place, Tommy, it's just that weeds
don't belong in the garden."
"Where do they go?"
"Anywhere, so long as they're not in my garden."
Tommy's perplexed look makes his grandfather go on. "When God
creates something, like weeds, a sunny day, or even you, he creates
it for a purpose. Sometimes we don't know what something's purpose
is -- like weeds that grow in my garden, but God has something in
mind."
"Well, what about me, what did God create me for?"
Tommy's grandfather smiles, and his deep, blue eyes meet the unfilled
counterparts of his grandson as he says, "God'll tell you, Tommy;
all you have to do is listen."
ON TO PART I
