Fallen Logs
By Joy Dillman, Lifeline Central Texas
I was enjoying a weekend at Camp Allen near Houston, TX in mid-April with my husband and thirty other volunteers of the Lifeline Chaplaincy organization. April is a lovely month in Texas. Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush carpet vast fields in masses of red and blue flowers. Redbud, Mexican plum and other trees show off their colorful blossoms. The weather is perfect, cool enough in the mornings and evenings for a light jacket and comfortable in shirt sleeves during the day.
After a Saturday morning of focused training and worship, our leader gave us an hour of free time. “Use this time to refresh yourself, relax, read, go for a walk, pray and do whatever helps you right now.”
I immediately knew what I wanted to do. Part of the Camp Allen campus was a lovely wooded area, bordered by tall pines. A trail wound through the woods for about a mile and a half. I figured I would have enough time to walk the trail from one end to the other and savor the sights, smells, and feel of a beautiful forest along the way. I was eager to listen to the quiet rustle of new spring leaves on the oaks, cottonwood, and elm trees. I hoped to see signs of wildflowers and deer and hear rabbits scurry away as I drew near. Maybe I could identify some birds as they flit around the trees.
With these expectations I stepped into the woods and had gone about 50 yards when I knew my expectations would not be met. Instead of tons of new life, I saw tons of fallen logs, many in stages of decay. Tall pines towered above me, but many had broken branches and others had completely fallen. The broken trees littered the path I was on and created obstacles to step over and around. Some of the trees had not completely fallen but were leaning against a larger tree, their roots half out of the ground. Some younger trees were bent over, their sparse canopy of leaves pointed downward instead of upward. Some logs had fallen over a rutted-out ditch, creating a bridge of sorts. Some very old logs were so decayed they appeared to be collapsing onto the forest floor. The forest was a mess.
Feeling somewhat disappointed, I had an urge to start picking up the broken branches. But from the recesses of my mind came a thought that it was best not to disturb the decay of a forest. Decay, being a part of the natural order of things, was essential for making the rich forest compost that feeds the other living things. The fallen logs themselves provided food, shelter, and bridges for animals and smaller plants. It was not the beauty I expected, but it was God’s way of keeping things going.
As I walked, I started shifting my thinking about beauty and usefulness. I started thinking about some of the patients I had been visiting as a volunteer chaplain. One young mother, Delores, stricken with severe diabetes, had once been a dark-haired beauty who loved to dance and be with her family and friends. Now her body was wasted, most of her hair gone, both feet had been amputated and she needed dialysis for kidney failure three times a week. Every week when I visited her, her smile returned, her eyes brightened, and she proudly told me about her son and what her friends had done for her. Her inner beauty shone through the disease of her body and she gave delight to those who cared for her and visited her. She was like the fallen log that fed and nourished the living things around her.
Lou was a middle-aged man who was serving time in prison. He had a severe wound and needed weeks of intense wound care. My visits with him were always monitored by two security guards. Lou had done some bad things in his past and was not hesitant to confess that he had done wrong and was justifiably enduring the consequences. He was hungry to know what the Bible said about repentance and forgiveness. He feared leaving this life without making things right with God and others he had hurt. He drank up the scriptures we read and as he started to understand God’s great love, became more at peace. He was like the log bowed down with its canopy toward the forest floor. In time, with more growth and strength, he would straighten and become vibrant in his world.
Mr. Harper nearly threw me out of the room the first time I visited him. “I don’t need a chaplain!” he said. “What I need is to find my phone and my glasses!” “I can help you if you’d like,” I said as I entered the room. “Tell me how long they have been missing.”
Mr. Harper quieted down enough to tell me his story about coming to the hospital the day before and he had not seen his glasses or his phone since. I spied his glasses on a shelf across the room and gave them to him. He quieted even more, very relieved to be able to see better. We never found his phone but notified the social worker who was able to trace it down. Mr. Harper was very ill, very weak, very angry and very alone. The next week when I visited him, he remembered me as the one who helped him find his glasses. That opened the door for more talking and listening and weeks later before he left the hospital, he expressed love and gratitude to all those who helped him. He was like the fallen log that became a bridge over anger and resentment.
An elderly lady named Edith was sitting in her wheelchair moaning in pain when I first visited her. She suffered several maladies that were untreatable. She was continually in pain and very weak, but never without hope of getting better. She loved to talk about her career working in the music department at a college and we shared many stories about her students and her own accomplishments. She had been a servant, role model and mentor to many through the years. Now, as the end of her life drew near, she seemed to take great pleasure in recounting these stories to others. She was like the log, almost completely decayed, whose last pieces of bark would feed the soil for a new generation of trees.
As I neared the end of the trail, I no longer felt disappointed that I had not seen the beauty I expected to see. I had seen beauty in a different way. I took pictures of all the different kinds of fallen logs I had seen so that I would remember the lesson I had learned. I will see others who may be physically declining not in ugliness but in beauty as they fulfill their role. I pray that I may help them not see their life in decay but their life fulfilling its purpose. After all, one day we will all be fallen logs.
