Living Outside The Box
Stories
Contents
"Living Outside the Box" by Keith Wagner
"Building a Better Beehive" by Keith Wagner
"The Architect" by Keith Hewitt
Living Outside the Box
by Keith Wagner
Matthew 28:16-20
When I was in the Navy there were times when we took brief R and R’s to give the crew an opportunity to rest and relax. Unfortunately they were seldom and short. It seemed like we had no longer tied up our ship to the pier when it was time to set sail again. It is our human nature to want to relax and rest following an event which has required a lot of time and energy. I can only imagine that the disciples were overwhelmed following the events of Jesus’ death and resurrection and were ready for a break. No wonder we hear the words, "And some had doubts."
I can just hear them saying, "What, you want us to go to Galilee and make disciples? Don’t we deserve some time off. What’s the hurry?" One thing is certain; Jesus was intentional about gathering the disciples together and giving them a final instruction to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” In that moment they received their marching orders.
When you go beyond familiar territory and enter unchartered waters you are living outside the box. By commissioning the disciples to go to all nations I believe Jesus wanted the disciples to build relationships with other cultures, exposing themselves to other traditions, learning new languages, discovering new frontiers and learning to travel in faith, just like the Israelites from the past.
How do we live outside the box in our time?
It’s a scary thing to move in a different direction, make changes or put our trust in others. The disciples weren’t any difference than us. They lacked the confidence to break away from familiar territory. They were nervous about sharing their faith. Jesus, however, was aware of their fears and consequently assured them that he would be with them wherever their journey took them.
The longest trip I ever made was from Norfolk, Virginia to Subic Bay, Philippines. I was an Ensign in the Navy and I had received orders to the USS Saratoga. I had four stops on the 10,000 mile journey: Chicago, Treasurer Island, California, Anchorage, Alaska and Kyoto, Japan. It was my first flight overseas. I was traveling to meet up with my ship which was operating in the Gulf of Tonkin. I had no idea what to expect and, to be honest, it was scary.
The first two legs of my flight were fairly routine but I was apprehensive about flying over the Pacific Ocean. When we finally boarded in Treasure Island, the man sitting next to me was a warrant officer who was also assigned to the USS Saratoga. He was returning after an emergency leave. He informed me about life on the ship, what being on the “line” was like and mostly what to expect. He was an experienced naval officer who had worked his way up through the ranks. Through our conversations I received assurance and confidence that I would be able to survive not only the trip but the tour of duty. The trip was fascinating but not without some scary moments. We landed in Alaska in the middle of the night. All you could see was ice. Since it was dark I really didn’t get to see much of Alaska. Then we flew to Japan. We left Kyoto early in the morning. At one point we flew over Mt. Fuji. It was about 5 AM and the view was unbelievable. The sun was coming up and we could see the mountain with a background of bright colors that was breathtaking.
Our last leg of the journey took us to the Philippines. I was anxious to be on the ground although we still had a 3 hour bus ride from Clark AFB to Subic Bay. When we were about 20 minutes from the base the pilot announced we were going to fly close to the tower so air controllers could view the landing gear on the plan. Apparently we had blown a tire leaving Kyoto and they wanted to make sure there was no damage to the landing gear. That was an anxious moment and the pilot assured us that we could land without incident. We made the pass over the tower then turned around and safely landed. But I will never forget that moment. It reminded me that all journeys have their challenges. Thankfully, there were voices that gave me assurance along the way. But that trip for me was really, “outside the box.”
The book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, is about a seagull who had left the flock because he wanted to fly. Rather than just stay near the docks and search for food to survive, Jonathan wanted to soar to the heavens and be free. Consequently he was banned from the flock because he was not willing to conform. Jonathan went, breaking tradition, defying authority and learned how to fly at great speeds. In the process he discovered new worlds, including seagull heaven, and became a flight instructor for other seagulls who wanted to spend their days flying instead of just surviving.
I believe that to live outside the box means to use all our talents and energy explore new territory, thereby making new friends but ultimately teaching others about life. No one owns us. By leaving the flock we are able to discover our authentic selves.
“I am with you always,” Jesus said, “to the end of time.” We are never alone. God is with us when we venture into new places. God is with us when we try new things. God is with us when we find ourselves in times of change and transition, especially during those times when we live outside the box.
* * *
Living in Peace
by Keith Wagner
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
In his book, “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell tells about the small town of Roseta, Pennsylvania. In Roseta there was no suicide, no alcoholism, no drug addiction and very little crime and no one was on welfare. A man by the name of Stewart Wolf decided to investigate along with a research team from the University of Oklahoma. They discovered that no one under the age of fifty had ever died of a heart attack. For men over the age of 65, the rate of heart disease was less than half of the rate in the rest of the US. But their research indicated that the people of Roseta did not eat differently than anyone else. Their smoking and drinking habits were also about the same as the rest of the nation. They researched their ancestry but could find nothing that contributed to the well-being of the people of Roseta.
After weeks of study Wolf and his associates discovered that there were some unique characteristics which enabled the town of Roseta to be a wonderful place to live. They found that the townspeople of Roseta visited one another. When they passed people on the street they took time to chat. They often cooked for each other in their back yards. Many homes had three generations living under the same roof. Grandparents were highly respected in the town. Everyone went to mass which gave the people of Roseta a unifying and calming effect. There was also an egalitarian ethos which discouraged the wealthy from flaunting their success and those who were unsuccessful were helped with their failures.
The people of Roseta were healthy because they had a sense of community. They looked beyond the individual. In other words, the people of Roseta made a conscious decision to care for one another and make worship a central part of their lives.
I believe that this illustrates the meaning of Paul’s farewell to the Church at Corinth. Like the people of Roseta, our lives will be enriched when we truly care about one another and live in peace.
Peaceful living doesn’t just happen. People have to make a conscious effort to change their ways, reaching out, sharing and getting along with their neighbors.
Every summer in Celina, Ohio, they host The Annual Amphibious Car rally. The aqua cars, which were made in Germany, come from all over the country to be part of the celebration. The highlight of the event is when the cars parade down Main Street and head for Grand Lake St. Mary’s. When they reach the lake they drive down a boat ramp and splash into the water. The amphibious cars are almost swamped but they are designed to float and in an instant they shift gears as the propeller starts spinning. An amazing transformation takes place as the cars turn in to boats.
It is exciting to watch, as one by one the amphibious cars parade into the water. But something changes. At first, the engines are roaring, as each car makes the normal sound of an automobile, driving on the road. Once they become a boat, the engines are much quieter since the cars are now submerged. The mood changes to a more peaceful sound.
We can find that tranquility too when we are open to the transforming, peaceful love of God. At some point we have to shift gears, leaving dry land and heading into the streams of life.
Rev. Dr. Keith Wagner is the pastor of St. John's UCC in Troy, Ohio. He has served churches in Southwest Ohio for over three decades. He is an ordained minister of the United Church of Christ and has an M.Div. from Methodist Theological School, Delaware, Ohio, and a D.Min. from United Theological Seminary in Dayton, Ohio. He has also been an adjunct professor at Edison Community College, Piqua, Ohio. He and his wife, Lin, live in Springfield, Ohio.
* * *
The Architect
by Keith Hewitt
Genesis 1:1--2:4a
Sunlight dappled the road as though it was being strained through the canopy of trees, and the breeze was heavy with the scent of pine. The reporter noticed neither, focused instead on the GPS on her dashboard. According to its silicon soul her destination was .5 miles ahead, on the right, but it seemed unlikely ... unless her subject was living in a bear den, or possibly an eagle’s next. She glanced at her phone; 8:04 ... already four minutes late, and she was sure she was hopelessly lost.
The lost feeling persisted until she rounded a curve and saw the cabin.
And cabin was the right word -- in her world of split level ranches, manicured lawns and picket fences, this was as out of place as a townhome on the prairie. It was tiny, with log walls and a stone chimney at one end, sending a subtle curl of smoke toward the sky, and a covered well -- a well, complete with bucket! -- in the yard.
Right next to the Tesla Roadster.
She pulled in next to the Tesla and turned off her ignition, took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I want you to find out what the hell happened to him,” her editor had growled, tapping the cover of Architectural Digest. “The man designed mansions for the filthy rich, three of the five most admired public buildings in the last twenty years, and two office buildings in Chicago that look like they belong in a sci-fi movie. And now he’s gone off the grid. He hasn’t done a project in four years -- hasn’t even submitted a proposal, from what I know. I want you to track him down and find out what happened.”
And track him down, she had ... after weeks of phone calls and emails, and a fairly subtle bribe to a County Clerk in northern Wisconsin that led to a series of calls directly with the subject before she was granted an interview, and then a hastily-planned seven hour drive from Chicago. The whole thing had been, simultaneously, a long slog and a whirlwind, exhausting and not leaving her time to do the usual research she would do before an interview.
“I hope this is going to be worth it,” she said to no one in particular, turned down her phone, and climbed out of the car. She started to shut the door forcefully, stopped herself -- somehow, the solid thunk of a door closing seemed like it would be out of place. Instead, she pushed it shut, bumped it with her hip to latch it, and turned toward the cabin.
The subject -- Drew Alexander -- was standing in the doorway.
“Mister Alexander?” she said, knowing the answer.
He nodded. “And you would be Miss Reilly. Welcome.” He stepped outside, met her halfway to the cabin and extended his hand. “You’re a very persistent young woman, Miss Reilly. I felt like I had to agree to meet you, after all the effort you went through.” He smiled. “Our mutual friend is not an easy man to bribe.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Bribe, Mister Alexander?”
“Let’s be grownups, Miss Reilly. We both know what we’ve done -- I’m just impressed that you were able outbid me, so to speak. I will be having a talk with him sometime soon.”
“I hope I didn’t get him in trouble.”
“Not at all. But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You want to know why I’m here.” He swept a hand around to include the forest surrounding them. “Is that correct?”
“It is. Can we get comfortable, and discuss how your career has brought you here?”
He smiled again. “I’m comfortable here, thank you. And I think it’s instructive.”
“Instructive how?” She held up her phone. “And do you mind if I record our conversation?”
He shrugged. “Knock yourself out. Not that it’ll do you any good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think what you record is going to be very helpful. But fine, whatever.” He touched her elbow, gestured with his other hand toward a patch of garden she hadn’t noticed before. “Walk with me.” Without waiting to see if she would, he started toward the garden. She hesitated for a moment, then fell in next to him.
“You said this would be instructive. How?” she asked.
“Patience,” he said simply.
When they were standing by the garden -- a plot perhaps twenty feet on a side -- she realized that about a quarter of it was planted in flowers and the rest in vegetables. She knew this because at the end of each row was a stake, with a seed envelope tied to it to remind the gardener what had been planted. This was a kindness to her, as she would not otherwise have recognized a vegetable outside of the produce aisle at the supermarket.
After a time of silence -- which she gradually noticed was not silent, but filled with the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the wind -- Drew Alexander said quietly, “Which of my buildings do you like the most? Which one impresses you?”
“I would have to say the Pan American Trade Center in Chicago. I see it almost every day. It’s sleek, it -- ”
“‘Its soaring lines reach to a limitless sky, while its classic-yet-contemporary plaza invites even the most casual passerby to enter.’ Yes, I’ve read the reviews. It’s all very flattering.” He looked at her closely. “Again, which one do you like the most, Miss Reilly?”
And this is where lack of research is going to bite me in the butt, she thought, and after a moment, took the plunge into the icy pool of honesty. “I have no idea, Mister Alexander. I’m a writer, not an architect. I read every article about you that I could, in the trade magazines, but I didn’t understand half of what was said.”
Another smile, and a grunt. “Honesty. I appreciate that. So if you’re a complete novice at architecture, what made your editor decide to send you after me?”
She shrugged. “I’m good at finding people. And once I find them, I’m good at understanding them -- getting inside their heads, seeing what makes them tick. And I’m very good at writing about what I find, so that the average reader has a pretty good understanding of my subject when we’re done.”
“I see. And you think people would want to know about me?”
“I think many people -- when they’re reminded who you are, and what you’ve done -- will be interested in learning what caused you to go from designing ultra modern buildings with some of the highest visibility in the world to, well, total obscurity.”
“Fair enough. You’ve been honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. Let me start by telling you I was good. Very, very good. My ability to envision a building, put that vision on paper, and then see it to completion was unmatched in the architectural world. I had an ability to tease emotion out of steel and concrete, to display character in marble and stone ... most of my colleagues envied it. I’m not bragging, I’m just telling you the truth.”
The reporter glanced at her phone, to make sure it was recording. “I understand. I’ve heard -- read -- the same thing, from many sources.”
“Then you know how I was. I was a genius, with a genius-sized ego, which I needed in order to get some of my most important projects done. Everyone told me there was no one better than me, and I believed it. And then one day -- it was while we were getting ready for the opening of the Pan American Trade Center -- one day, I was walking around the plaza, checking every little detail, and I happened to look up at one of the trees I’d had brought in. It had been there about a couple of months, I guess, and in that time it had dropped a seed that had sprouted a seedling next to it. Imagine, in one of my oh-so-modern planters, there was this mighty oak tree, and a sprout next to it ... a little green thing, with aspirations to become a tree.”
“Okay ... ” the reporter said uncertainly.
“For some reason, on that day, at that moment in my life, the tumblers just rolled around and made me really notice that tree and the seedling. After a few moments, I made a note to have the seedling moved, so it wouldn’t disrupt the flow of my design, and I moved on.”
“So what was it about that moment that was special?”
“Everything. You see, that moment got me to thinking about what I did, and all of the work I put into it. Have you any idea of the years ... the thousands of man hours that go into making a project like that happen? Not the building, just the design of it, is a monumental task in itself. Then you add in the actual construction, and you can see what a huge collective effort it is ... just for that one building.”
“That’s what makes them special,” the reporter ventured.
He shook his head. “That’s what makes it so sad. Because I realized that all the imagination, all the effort, all the work that I did was duplicated by this one tree, and its seedling.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Look at the garden, Miss Reilly. What do you see? Rows of plants, taking root and starting to sprout. Rows of flowers, starting to bloom. Look around you, at the trees, and the birds, and the wind and the sky. What hit me that day, Miss Reilly, was that somebody had designed all of this ... somebody had created a world where even the simplest life form could duplicate itself, without human intervention at all.”
“By somebody you mean--?”
“God, Miss Reilly. I spent the better part of my adult life telling myself I was a genius because of the things that I could do, the ways in which I could blend science and art to build these marvelous things that people could go ‘ooh and ah’ over ... and then I had the epiphany that in reality, I had no idea how to design something as simple as a flower, or a tree, or a single blade of grass.”
He fell silent, then, staring at his garden. After a time, the reporter said, “So you dropped out?”
“’Dropped out?’ I was never in, Miss Reilly, it just took me this many years to realize it. I can’t compete with God, Miss Reilly, and I realized -- thankfully -- that I was foolish to even try. So I said goodbye to it all, and moved out here, to where I could live as close to God’s creation as I wanted, and try to get back in touch with it. Without trying to compete.”
There was another long pause, as the reporter considered his answer, and then she asked, “So -- I think your fans ... the people you’ve worked with, the others in your field, they would want to know -- are you ever going to come back, Mister Alexander?”
Drew Alexander stooped down, picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it between his fingers, letting it fall to the ground. “You know,” he said quietly, “these days I plant my seeds, I tend my garden, and I watch these little miracles grow with every bit as much satisfaction as I ever felt watching one of my buildings go up, and there’s no blueprints or permits or construction involved. I’ve learned that we live in a universe of miracles, created by a god of wonders, and that’s enough to keep me happy ... happy, and content.” He glanced at the reporter. “I don’t expect you to understand, Miss Reilly, but my answer to your question, am I ever going to come back, is that I already have. I’m back where I need to be, getting a little bit closer to God every day.”
“You’re giving up a lot, aren’t you?” she asked, hoping for a more sensible reply.
He bent down, plucked a yellow rose from a bush, and held it out to her. When she took it, he said, “Maybe, one day, I’ll learn how to make one of these. And if I do, then I’ll be back.” He smiled, and added, “But don’t hold your breath, Miss Reilly. I’m not.”
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
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StoryShare, June 11, 2017, issue.
Copyright 2017 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Living Outside the Box" by Keith Wagner
"Building a Better Beehive" by Keith Wagner
"The Architect" by Keith Hewitt
Living Outside the Box
by Keith Wagner
Matthew 28:16-20
When I was in the Navy there were times when we took brief R and R’s to give the crew an opportunity to rest and relax. Unfortunately they were seldom and short. It seemed like we had no longer tied up our ship to the pier when it was time to set sail again. It is our human nature to want to relax and rest following an event which has required a lot of time and energy. I can only imagine that the disciples were overwhelmed following the events of Jesus’ death and resurrection and were ready for a break. No wonder we hear the words, "And some had doubts."
I can just hear them saying, "What, you want us to go to Galilee and make disciples? Don’t we deserve some time off. What’s the hurry?" One thing is certain; Jesus was intentional about gathering the disciples together and giving them a final instruction to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” In that moment they received their marching orders.
When you go beyond familiar territory and enter unchartered waters you are living outside the box. By commissioning the disciples to go to all nations I believe Jesus wanted the disciples to build relationships with other cultures, exposing themselves to other traditions, learning new languages, discovering new frontiers and learning to travel in faith, just like the Israelites from the past.
How do we live outside the box in our time?
It’s a scary thing to move in a different direction, make changes or put our trust in others. The disciples weren’t any difference than us. They lacked the confidence to break away from familiar territory. They were nervous about sharing their faith. Jesus, however, was aware of their fears and consequently assured them that he would be with them wherever their journey took them.
The longest trip I ever made was from Norfolk, Virginia to Subic Bay, Philippines. I was an Ensign in the Navy and I had received orders to the USS Saratoga. I had four stops on the 10,000 mile journey: Chicago, Treasurer Island, California, Anchorage, Alaska and Kyoto, Japan. It was my first flight overseas. I was traveling to meet up with my ship which was operating in the Gulf of Tonkin. I had no idea what to expect and, to be honest, it was scary.
The first two legs of my flight were fairly routine but I was apprehensive about flying over the Pacific Ocean. When we finally boarded in Treasure Island, the man sitting next to me was a warrant officer who was also assigned to the USS Saratoga. He was returning after an emergency leave. He informed me about life on the ship, what being on the “line” was like and mostly what to expect. He was an experienced naval officer who had worked his way up through the ranks. Through our conversations I received assurance and confidence that I would be able to survive not only the trip but the tour of duty. The trip was fascinating but not without some scary moments. We landed in Alaska in the middle of the night. All you could see was ice. Since it was dark I really didn’t get to see much of Alaska. Then we flew to Japan. We left Kyoto early in the morning. At one point we flew over Mt. Fuji. It was about 5 AM and the view was unbelievable. The sun was coming up and we could see the mountain with a background of bright colors that was breathtaking.
Our last leg of the journey took us to the Philippines. I was anxious to be on the ground although we still had a 3 hour bus ride from Clark AFB to Subic Bay. When we were about 20 minutes from the base the pilot announced we were going to fly close to the tower so air controllers could view the landing gear on the plan. Apparently we had blown a tire leaving Kyoto and they wanted to make sure there was no damage to the landing gear. That was an anxious moment and the pilot assured us that we could land without incident. We made the pass over the tower then turned around and safely landed. But I will never forget that moment. It reminded me that all journeys have their challenges. Thankfully, there were voices that gave me assurance along the way. But that trip for me was really, “outside the box.”
The book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, is about a seagull who had left the flock because he wanted to fly. Rather than just stay near the docks and search for food to survive, Jonathan wanted to soar to the heavens and be free. Consequently he was banned from the flock because he was not willing to conform. Jonathan went, breaking tradition, defying authority and learned how to fly at great speeds. In the process he discovered new worlds, including seagull heaven, and became a flight instructor for other seagulls who wanted to spend their days flying instead of just surviving.
I believe that to live outside the box means to use all our talents and energy explore new territory, thereby making new friends but ultimately teaching others about life. No one owns us. By leaving the flock we are able to discover our authentic selves.
“I am with you always,” Jesus said, “to the end of time.” We are never alone. God is with us when we venture into new places. God is with us when we try new things. God is with us when we find ourselves in times of change and transition, especially during those times when we live outside the box.
* * *
Living in Peace
by Keith Wagner
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
In his book, “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell tells about the small town of Roseta, Pennsylvania. In Roseta there was no suicide, no alcoholism, no drug addiction and very little crime and no one was on welfare. A man by the name of Stewart Wolf decided to investigate along with a research team from the University of Oklahoma. They discovered that no one under the age of fifty had ever died of a heart attack. For men over the age of 65, the rate of heart disease was less than half of the rate in the rest of the US. But their research indicated that the people of Roseta did not eat differently than anyone else. Their smoking and drinking habits were also about the same as the rest of the nation. They researched their ancestry but could find nothing that contributed to the well-being of the people of Roseta.
After weeks of study Wolf and his associates discovered that there were some unique characteristics which enabled the town of Roseta to be a wonderful place to live. They found that the townspeople of Roseta visited one another. When they passed people on the street they took time to chat. They often cooked for each other in their back yards. Many homes had three generations living under the same roof. Grandparents were highly respected in the town. Everyone went to mass which gave the people of Roseta a unifying and calming effect. There was also an egalitarian ethos which discouraged the wealthy from flaunting their success and those who were unsuccessful were helped with their failures.
The people of Roseta were healthy because they had a sense of community. They looked beyond the individual. In other words, the people of Roseta made a conscious decision to care for one another and make worship a central part of their lives.
I believe that this illustrates the meaning of Paul’s farewell to the Church at Corinth. Like the people of Roseta, our lives will be enriched when we truly care about one another and live in peace.
Peaceful living doesn’t just happen. People have to make a conscious effort to change their ways, reaching out, sharing and getting along with their neighbors.
Every summer in Celina, Ohio, they host The Annual Amphibious Car rally. The aqua cars, which were made in Germany, come from all over the country to be part of the celebration. The highlight of the event is when the cars parade down Main Street and head for Grand Lake St. Mary’s. When they reach the lake they drive down a boat ramp and splash into the water. The amphibious cars are almost swamped but they are designed to float and in an instant they shift gears as the propeller starts spinning. An amazing transformation takes place as the cars turn in to boats.
It is exciting to watch, as one by one the amphibious cars parade into the water. But something changes. At first, the engines are roaring, as each car makes the normal sound of an automobile, driving on the road. Once they become a boat, the engines are much quieter since the cars are now submerged. The mood changes to a more peaceful sound.
We can find that tranquility too when we are open to the transforming, peaceful love of God. At some point we have to shift gears, leaving dry land and heading into the streams of life.
Rev. Dr. Keith Wagner is the pastor of St. John's UCC in Troy, Ohio. He has served churches in Southwest Ohio for over three decades. He is an ordained minister of the United Church of Christ and has an M.Div. from Methodist Theological School, Delaware, Ohio, and a D.Min. from United Theological Seminary in Dayton, Ohio. He has also been an adjunct professor at Edison Community College, Piqua, Ohio. He and his wife, Lin, live in Springfield, Ohio.
* * *
The Architect
by Keith Hewitt
Genesis 1:1--2:4a
Sunlight dappled the road as though it was being strained through the canopy of trees, and the breeze was heavy with the scent of pine. The reporter noticed neither, focused instead on the GPS on her dashboard. According to its silicon soul her destination was .5 miles ahead, on the right, but it seemed unlikely ... unless her subject was living in a bear den, or possibly an eagle’s next. She glanced at her phone; 8:04 ... already four minutes late, and she was sure she was hopelessly lost.
The lost feeling persisted until she rounded a curve and saw the cabin.
And cabin was the right word -- in her world of split level ranches, manicured lawns and picket fences, this was as out of place as a townhome on the prairie. It was tiny, with log walls and a stone chimney at one end, sending a subtle curl of smoke toward the sky, and a covered well -- a well, complete with bucket! -- in the yard.
Right next to the Tesla Roadster.
She pulled in next to the Tesla and turned off her ignition, took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I want you to find out what the hell happened to him,” her editor had growled, tapping the cover of Architectural Digest. “The man designed mansions for the filthy rich, three of the five most admired public buildings in the last twenty years, and two office buildings in Chicago that look like they belong in a sci-fi movie. And now he’s gone off the grid. He hasn’t done a project in four years -- hasn’t even submitted a proposal, from what I know. I want you to track him down and find out what happened.”
And track him down, she had ... after weeks of phone calls and emails, and a fairly subtle bribe to a County Clerk in northern Wisconsin that led to a series of calls directly with the subject before she was granted an interview, and then a hastily-planned seven hour drive from Chicago. The whole thing had been, simultaneously, a long slog and a whirlwind, exhausting and not leaving her time to do the usual research she would do before an interview.
“I hope this is going to be worth it,” she said to no one in particular, turned down her phone, and climbed out of the car. She started to shut the door forcefully, stopped herself -- somehow, the solid thunk of a door closing seemed like it would be out of place. Instead, she pushed it shut, bumped it with her hip to latch it, and turned toward the cabin.
The subject -- Drew Alexander -- was standing in the doorway.
“Mister Alexander?” she said, knowing the answer.
He nodded. “And you would be Miss Reilly. Welcome.” He stepped outside, met her halfway to the cabin and extended his hand. “You’re a very persistent young woman, Miss Reilly. I felt like I had to agree to meet you, after all the effort you went through.” He smiled. “Our mutual friend is not an easy man to bribe.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Bribe, Mister Alexander?”
“Let’s be grownups, Miss Reilly. We both know what we’ve done -- I’m just impressed that you were able outbid me, so to speak. I will be having a talk with him sometime soon.”
“I hope I didn’t get him in trouble.”
“Not at all. But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You want to know why I’m here.” He swept a hand around to include the forest surrounding them. “Is that correct?”
“It is. Can we get comfortable, and discuss how your career has brought you here?”
He smiled again. “I’m comfortable here, thank you. And I think it’s instructive.”
“Instructive how?” She held up her phone. “And do you mind if I record our conversation?”
He shrugged. “Knock yourself out. Not that it’ll do you any good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think what you record is going to be very helpful. But fine, whatever.” He touched her elbow, gestured with his other hand toward a patch of garden she hadn’t noticed before. “Walk with me.” Without waiting to see if she would, he started toward the garden. She hesitated for a moment, then fell in next to him.
“You said this would be instructive. How?” she asked.
“Patience,” he said simply.
When they were standing by the garden -- a plot perhaps twenty feet on a side -- she realized that about a quarter of it was planted in flowers and the rest in vegetables. She knew this because at the end of each row was a stake, with a seed envelope tied to it to remind the gardener what had been planted. This was a kindness to her, as she would not otherwise have recognized a vegetable outside of the produce aisle at the supermarket.
After a time of silence -- which she gradually noticed was not silent, but filled with the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the wind -- Drew Alexander said quietly, “Which of my buildings do you like the most? Which one impresses you?”
“I would have to say the Pan American Trade Center in Chicago. I see it almost every day. It’s sleek, it -- ”
“‘Its soaring lines reach to a limitless sky, while its classic-yet-contemporary plaza invites even the most casual passerby to enter.’ Yes, I’ve read the reviews. It’s all very flattering.” He looked at her closely. “Again, which one do you like the most, Miss Reilly?”
And this is where lack of research is going to bite me in the butt, she thought, and after a moment, took the plunge into the icy pool of honesty. “I have no idea, Mister Alexander. I’m a writer, not an architect. I read every article about you that I could, in the trade magazines, but I didn’t understand half of what was said.”
Another smile, and a grunt. “Honesty. I appreciate that. So if you’re a complete novice at architecture, what made your editor decide to send you after me?”
She shrugged. “I’m good at finding people. And once I find them, I’m good at understanding them -- getting inside their heads, seeing what makes them tick. And I’m very good at writing about what I find, so that the average reader has a pretty good understanding of my subject when we’re done.”
“I see. And you think people would want to know about me?”
“I think many people -- when they’re reminded who you are, and what you’ve done -- will be interested in learning what caused you to go from designing ultra modern buildings with some of the highest visibility in the world to, well, total obscurity.”
“Fair enough. You’ve been honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. Let me start by telling you I was good. Very, very good. My ability to envision a building, put that vision on paper, and then see it to completion was unmatched in the architectural world. I had an ability to tease emotion out of steel and concrete, to display character in marble and stone ... most of my colleagues envied it. I’m not bragging, I’m just telling you the truth.”
The reporter glanced at her phone, to make sure it was recording. “I understand. I’ve heard -- read -- the same thing, from many sources.”
“Then you know how I was. I was a genius, with a genius-sized ego, which I needed in order to get some of my most important projects done. Everyone told me there was no one better than me, and I believed it. And then one day -- it was while we were getting ready for the opening of the Pan American Trade Center -- one day, I was walking around the plaza, checking every little detail, and I happened to look up at one of the trees I’d had brought in. It had been there about a couple of months, I guess, and in that time it had dropped a seed that had sprouted a seedling next to it. Imagine, in one of my oh-so-modern planters, there was this mighty oak tree, and a sprout next to it ... a little green thing, with aspirations to become a tree.”
“Okay ... ” the reporter said uncertainly.
“For some reason, on that day, at that moment in my life, the tumblers just rolled around and made me really notice that tree and the seedling. After a few moments, I made a note to have the seedling moved, so it wouldn’t disrupt the flow of my design, and I moved on.”
“So what was it about that moment that was special?”
“Everything. You see, that moment got me to thinking about what I did, and all of the work I put into it. Have you any idea of the years ... the thousands of man hours that go into making a project like that happen? Not the building, just the design of it, is a monumental task in itself. Then you add in the actual construction, and you can see what a huge collective effort it is ... just for that one building.”
“That’s what makes them special,” the reporter ventured.
He shook his head. “That’s what makes it so sad. Because I realized that all the imagination, all the effort, all the work that I did was duplicated by this one tree, and its seedling.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Look at the garden, Miss Reilly. What do you see? Rows of plants, taking root and starting to sprout. Rows of flowers, starting to bloom. Look around you, at the trees, and the birds, and the wind and the sky. What hit me that day, Miss Reilly, was that somebody had designed all of this ... somebody had created a world where even the simplest life form could duplicate itself, without human intervention at all.”
“By somebody you mean--?”
“God, Miss Reilly. I spent the better part of my adult life telling myself I was a genius because of the things that I could do, the ways in which I could blend science and art to build these marvelous things that people could go ‘ooh and ah’ over ... and then I had the epiphany that in reality, I had no idea how to design something as simple as a flower, or a tree, or a single blade of grass.”
He fell silent, then, staring at his garden. After a time, the reporter said, “So you dropped out?”
“’Dropped out?’ I was never in, Miss Reilly, it just took me this many years to realize it. I can’t compete with God, Miss Reilly, and I realized -- thankfully -- that I was foolish to even try. So I said goodbye to it all, and moved out here, to where I could live as close to God’s creation as I wanted, and try to get back in touch with it. Without trying to compete.”
There was another long pause, as the reporter considered his answer, and then she asked, “So -- I think your fans ... the people you’ve worked with, the others in your field, they would want to know -- are you ever going to come back, Mister Alexander?”
Drew Alexander stooped down, picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it between his fingers, letting it fall to the ground. “You know,” he said quietly, “these days I plant my seeds, I tend my garden, and I watch these little miracles grow with every bit as much satisfaction as I ever felt watching one of my buildings go up, and there’s no blueprints or permits or construction involved. I’ve learned that we live in a universe of miracles, created by a god of wonders, and that’s enough to keep me happy ... happy, and content.” He glanced at the reporter. “I don’t expect you to understand, Miss Reilly, but my answer to your question, am I ever going to come back, is that I already have. I’m back where I need to be, getting a little bit closer to God every day.”
“You’re giving up a lot, aren’t you?” she asked, hoping for a more sensible reply.
He bent down, plucked a yellow rose from a bush, and held it out to her. When she took it, he said, “Maybe, one day, I’ll learn how to make one of these. And if I do, then I’ll be back.” He smiled, and added, “But don’t hold your breath, Miss Reilly. I’m not.”
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
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StoryShare, June 11, 2017, issue.
Copyright 2017 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
