“Don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” Romans 6:3-5
Media vita in morte sumus. This is a medieval saying which means, “In the midst of life, we are in death.” It’s a reminder of our own mortality, and too often, death can come unexpectedly. Yet, because Jesus defeated death and the grave for us on Easter, we know the opposite is also true. Actually, the opposite is even more true: In the midst of death, we have new life!
Jesus often told earthly stories that to teach a heavenly reality. A number of years ago, I ran across a small article about new life after a devastating wild fire. After reading it, I was inspired to write a fictional story based on that event. It’s an earthly story that gives the hope of new life. As you enjoy summer flowers in full bloom, may you be encouraged in the certain hope that in Christ Jesus, we not only have new life, but eternal life.
Wildflower
Markus stood nervously in front of Myra’s apartment door. They had been dating for 6 months, and tonight Markus had planned a big night: dinner, a movie, and a late night walk on the beach. Markus smiled as Myra opened the door. She was all dressed up.
“Wow. You look stunning!” Markus reached out and handed Myra a bouquet of flowers, and gave her a big hug. “These are for you.”
Markus looks great, Myra thought to herself, but he could have spent a little more on these flowers. The bouquet had obviously come from a field somewhere, and they were beginning to wilt. “Ummm,” Myra said tongue-tied. “Thanks for the flowers. I’ll go put them in water.”
“No,” Markus replied. “Let’s bring them along. I’ll have the waiter put it in a vase and place it on our table.” Myra was slightly embarrassed. What will the other diners think – that he’s too cheap to buy roses? Perhaps Markus will leave them in the back seat and forget to bring them in.
Dinner at Satches (their favorite upscale steak house) was going splendidly. The food tasted great, and the couple was having a lovely conversation. Myra had almost forgotten the unsightly flowers that the waiter had placed on the table’s edge.
“Myra,” Markus began. “I need to tell you a story about something that happened to me when I was 11. I had this horse named River Rock.”
“River Rock? That sounds like a little boy came up with that.”
“I know it’s pretty corny, but I was only 5 when I named him. One of my dad’s horses, whose name was Lightning, had a colt, and dad gave him to me for my 5th birthday. He was a deep chocolate brown, but the back of his ears were white. When my dad said I could name him, the first thing that came to mind was that he looked like one of those rocks you see in a river, that is deep dark brown and has white water cascading over it.”
“Anyway, I loved River Rock. I rode him every chance I got. My dad and I used to take the horses out on a big 7 day ride every year in October. Dad would take me out of school, and we’d ride up in the Sierras.”
“What an amazing childhood memory,” Myra replied, as she took a bite of the cheesecake that just arrived at the table.
“Actually, when I was 11, I didn’t want to go on the trip because my soccer team had a big game and I didn’t want to miss it. My dad twisted my arm and we went any. The trip began like every previous October. The air was cool and crisp, the leaves had changed to brilliant reds and yellows, and my dad I didn’t see another single person all week.”
“It was our forth night out, and we were camping near a stream. It was getting late, so my dad tied up the horses for the night. It was my job to put out the fire before climbing into our tent. Around 3:30 am, I woke suddenly. I was being carried on my dad’s shoulder. My eyes were stinging. There was fire everywhere.”
Myra stopped eating mid-bite.
“I remember the immense heat. I remember my dad’s thermal soaked in bitter-smelling sweat. For a moment, we seemed lost. You couldn’t see anything. And then, by God’s grace, we found the stream. As we lunged into the 48 degree water, I remember thinking that cold water had never felt so good. We got safely to the other side, and my eyes began to clear. There were these big stomping foot steps behind us. It was Lightning, my dad’s horse. He had somehow broken free. My heart sprang in hope for River Rock. I cried out for him. I tried to see him through the smoke. He never came.”
“How utterly terrible,” is all that Myra could think to say.
“I sat in my dad’s lap and wailed. My father tried to comfort his son. I stopped crying when Lightening gave a deep, mournful bellow. It sent shivers down my spine. He was mourning for his son.”
“One year later I did one of the hardest things of my life. My dad and I went on our annual ride in October. I had gotten a new horse by then, but I hadn’t yet named her. I guess I was afraid to get too attached.
“We were packing up our gear on the final morning of our trip, when my Dad asked me, ‘Markus, do you want to stop by the stream? I think we should.’ I had been waiting for that question all week long. I actually wished my dad had asked me a couple of days earlier, so I could have gotten it over with. ‘OK,’ is all I said.
“We rode over to the place where we had camped the year before. And for about 30 acres, there was nothing but black charred wood. It was desolate. It was horrible. Only death was to found all around. My dad saw that I was beginning to cry, and so he said tenderly, ‘Let’s go Markus. We’ve seen enough.’
“‘Wait, dad,’ I said without hesitation. ‘I want to go down to the stream where we crossed.’ And so we did. We rode over silently, and that’s when we saw it: River Rock’s final resting place. I got off of my horse and ran over.” Markus was silent for a moment. “The thing I remembered the most was the smell.” Markus looked up across the dinner table, and from the look on Myra’s face, he could see she thought that maybe he should have waited until after dessert to finish his story.
“No, it’s not what you think! River Rock had made it to the water’s edge before falling down. In the place where he died, the soil had become deep and rich. The only life on that whole 30 acres were some wild flowers that had grown from his death bed. These flowers were spectacularly beautiful, and their fragrance was so sweet to me, that I stood there for minutes with my eyes closed.” Markus closed his eyes remembering that moment. “I inhaled that sweet fragrance. I just stood there and inhaled…” Markus searched for the word. “I inhaled life.”
Myra looked at those pathetic flowers in the water glass. They were the most precious gift she had ever been given. For the first time, she drew them near and smelled them.
That night, after Markus kissed Myra good night, she quickly opened her apartment door, stuck her head out, and yelled at Markus who was getting into his car: “What did you ever name your new horse?”
Markus smiled. “Wildflower.”