Just outside my dining room window is an apple tree. This spring will be the first time I will be here to see its buds form and blossom. I have owned this house for over six years, but each of the past spring seasons I was living and working in Chicago, and I wasn’t here to watch the tiny white flowers fill and crowd the branches. I was only able to picture it in my mind’s eye. I look forward to the real thing, because I have seen apples trees bloom before, and they are truly a beautiful sight to see.
An apple tree that holds a special spot in my memory is one that grew in a neighbor’s yard when I was a young boy. It was a mature tree many years before I was born. It was planted with the intention to both bear fruit and provide shade. The tree was never pruned to the degree that apple trees in an orchard are pruned; it still looked like a tree. Often, my friend would invite me over to climb in its branches, and literally “hang” around. On sunny summer days, there would be lawn chairs under the tree, where we would sit and enjoy the cool of the shade, and whatever breeze may have been lost on its way to another neighborhood. It was a time in my life where, if I wasn’t in the park across the street, I was in Mark’s backyard, most likely in or around Mark’s apple tree. We would see who could climb the highest in the tree, who could hang from a limb the longest, and who dared to shimmy the furthest out on the branches. Mark always won the hanging from the branches contest. He would hook his leg braces onto a branch and just hang there. He could have been there for days, and would have been if I didn’t unhook him when he got stuck.
My boyhood friend Mark had a lot of medical issues. His doctor appointments caused him to miss a lot of school during the year, so he was required to attend summer school to catch up with his work. In the summer, I would go over to his yard and wait for the bus to drop him off. One day his bus was later than usual, so I started playing around in the yard alone. I arranged folding lawn chairs in a long row forming a tunnel to crawl through. When he got home, we would see who could crawl through the legs of the chairs the fastest. I practiced while I waited for him. With each successive trip through the “tunnel” I became faster. On my last run through, the line of chairs collapsed. (These were the type of folding chairs with the colorful plastic webbing and tubular U-shaped legs; the kind that does not sink into the lawn like regular folding chairs would.) The U-shaped legs of one of the chairs snapped around my neck. The harder I tried to get free from the chair, the harder it pressed against my throat. I screamed for help, but my pleas were no louder than the last few blows from a depleted aerosol can. I flopped around like a fish out of water.
My friend’s grandmother rushed from the house and freed me from the chair. I was grateful, frightened, and embarrassed all at the same time. I asked her not to tell my mom, or anybody else what had just happened. I also told her that we would not race under the lawn chairs - EVER! She never did tell my mom what happened, and I never did either. That’s too bad, because a miracle took place that day. Helen, Mark’s grandmother, had hearing and sight problems, and our neighborhood was very noisy. I doubt she heard any of the commotion in the backyard from her windowless basement apartment. She didn’t tell me what prompted her to come to my rescue, but I firmly believe that it was God. Apple trees and lawn chairs still remind me of that day many years ago.
In centuries past, God’s people would set large stones up on end or build altars as remembrances for themselves when God demonstrated His power in their lives. It was a testament to a miracle performed or a blessing bestowed. In fact, it was such a common practice in those times, that anyone who came upon such a sight would have known without a doubt that God had done something amazing on that spot.
God’s kindness and mercy saved me physically in Mark’s backyard that day, and little did I know that He was just getting started with me. Neither Helen nor I erected a standing stone or altar to draw any attention to what took place in the yard; rather, we kept it to ourselves. God, however, did set up a standing stone that day! Many years later, God showed me that I have been the standing stone; more exactly, that in Christ, I became a living stone that He is building into His spiritual temple (1 Peter 2:5). He has set me up as a living testament to many miracles He has performed and is yet to perform. He is using me so that others might know Him. He wants me to speak of His great and mighty deeds. He wants you to do that too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
