The Empty Swing

I love the old country swing. Its wood plank seat and heavy rope--primitive . . . simple . . . childhood joy.

Early memories fill my mine's eyes of a little brick farmhouse near the wide Missouri River. Nestled among large, creaking oak trees and surrounded by gardens of flowers and little kittens, my Aunt Helen's home was magical to me. Barns to explore, antique farm implements, musty, familiar scents of history. The overgrown oak next to the garage held the classic childhood wooden swing. Swinging to and fro, higher and higher, pumping the air, the breezes--simplicity heavenward.

Why don't we see adults enjoying those swings more? It seems to be a child-like distraction. Or is it? Not today as I survey its deeper meanings.

The empty swing. Symbol of childhoods forgotten, joy abandoned. Sedentary life - motion upturned and in upheavel. Early dawn silences the motion. A wooden swing - motionless, resting, saluting underneath its leafy canopy. It waits for another . . . another child, another life full of abandon, one more reckless swing heavenward with squeals of delight.

Reaching for the sky . . . striving for the eternal.

Empty swing . . . filled life.

Reliving childhood . . . simple, joyful abandon, new life.

And That's How We Show Love

When you have a menagerie to feed out on the prairie, where do you go? The farm store, of course. We're frequent visitors to the farm & home store in town. It's a great place for plumbing & electrical supplies, garden fertilizer and bedding plants, gun safes, hardware, overalls, flannel, leather work gloves, fencing, sour gummy worms, peanuts in the shell, salt water taffy, and on and on. The list is nearly endless.

Springtime, however, brings a new attraction to the product mix that always has a big pull for the elementary age crowd. And, Miss Brinna is no exception. Can you guess what it is?

Yep, downy balls of ducklings, chicks, and Beatrix Potter's favorite--Peter Rabbit's American cousins. They come in all shades and sizes and inevitably leave an interesting scent in aisle 1. Brinna doesn't seem to mind though, because once we hit the front door she's off for her baby animal fix. This past Saturday was no exception as I stocked up on 50-pound bags of grain for our horses and Brinna cooed to the bunnies.

At the check-out counter, they were giving out freshly cut, home-grown roses. Brinna picked a beauty that looked like God had taken his watercolor palette to it. Delicate brushstrokes of pinks & yellows.

Pushing the overloaded cart, loaded down with about 300 pounds of horse feed, I struggled to the truck with Brinna following. As I loaded the feed into the bed of the truck, I noticed Brinna was distracted a short distance from me, intent on something in the parking lot, near the curb. I called. She came. A beautiful yellow butterfly perched on her finger. The little guy was wounded, however. One of the four wings was down. Her spindly legs clung to Brinna's finger. Then Brinna decided to move the sweet thing to her painted rose.

Brinna's comment to me, "I just want to help make her last moments happy."

And, that's how a little girl showed love to a tiny butterfly.

Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13 NASB)