Cake and Arrows

There is something unique in living where you got married. The landscape changes with your life - for us, the trees and the light strings are gone, and a new house sits on our ceremony location. Laughter fills new hallways that connect two homes and two generations together - the two have literally becomes three little ones who dance to television show music where we stood nine years ago. Where the cake was cut, a playhouse now stands. One of the roses we planted has died, but the other thrives across the arbor.

The benefit to such living is it forces your vision from a still frame into a movie camera. The shots are there in memory, but also changing, morphing, fading, and growing more crisp. Right now we are in an intense season of trench work with three little ones who, for the most part, are still dependent on us for all of their needs. Our marriage was like a bow and quiver getting together, and now we have some arrows to manage. When you dream of your wedding and then your marriage,  often you are standing upon a grassy knoll, the golden sunlight of late July slicing through airy clouds, a meadowlark singing, and target practice with perfectly straight arrows twanging across a slight breeze.

It is not like that - it happens in the aisles of Target, the seats of minivans. Right now we are studying our arrows. What is this one made out of? Do you see that little bend in the shaft? We need to teach that little arrow how to work with that, or it's going to veer wildly off course when it's launched. What in the world is the arrow doing? Don't eat that! Why is one arrow biting the other arrow? We are in the process of cutting the wood, honing the shaft, shaping the heads. We have been given three very different bits of eternal raw material watching us with very big, blue eyes. Thank God the Master Craftsman is directing our fumbling fingers!

Because right now, we are making arrows. In a few years, we're going to notch them on the string. Then, we're going to pull back. There will be some tension, as the arrow gets ready to fly, but holding, holding,holding.... twang. Our arrows aren't meant to hang on our wall, stay in our quiver, or plunk down at our feet. The bow needs to be strong - a faithful father who pours into his wife, into his children, looks for ways to serve and wash grime from in-between un-manicured toes and faces the battle head-on. The quiver needs to be steady, nurturing, loving, bold, unafraid, supportive. They need to work together - and the arrow needs to be ready. Not to soar upon a rose-scented breeze, but to drive with deadly accuracy into the fray of this present darkness.

One of my students was chuckling about me having three daughters and how crazy that was. I looked right at him and said, "well, when you grow up, you will have a boat. When I grow up, I will have three game-changers." Thank goodness the cake canopy is gone, and the target is clear.