When I was a young boy, one of the major streets near our house was lined with large Elm trees.  They arched over the street to the point that it was almost as if we were driving through a tunnel like arbor.  In the autumn, the leaves would fall and cover the street.  It was an amazing picture.  The leaves would blow into the air as the cars would pass.  It was something like being inside of one of those snow-globes after they have been shaken.  There is something amazing about a tree lined street.  That street has long since changed and most of the trees are now gone, but that seems to be the way of life.  Some of the most amazing things in life seem to pass so quickly.

In this part of the country, we don’t have nearly as many of those high arching trees, but we do have our special trees that ornament our lives.  They even tell things about the character of the people around them.  You see, I think trees are more than shade and ornaments.  They are a depiction of life.

I know a street that is lined with trees.  Most of the trees are those Bradford – fruitless - Pear trees.  In the early spring, when the white blossoms cover the trees, they appear like giant snowballs.  They are amazing, beautiful, and a promise of even better things.  Until the late spring winds knock the fading blossoms they gather attention from all who pass.

Even in the fall, there is a message in the trees.  Crimson is the peak of color.  From the green of the summer leaves, the changing season brings the mixture of glorious reds.  Quickly the color spreads over the tree, and the background of the green offers a vibrant realization of the ever moving changes of life. 

Travelling north, I passed between the trees and was struck by the sight.  On the east side of the street, the trees were completely bare.  On the west side of the street the trees were still covered with leaves.  Not only were those trees still covered, a large portion of the leaves were still green.  Larger sections were red, and other parts were obviously undergoing change. I wondered.  Why was there such a clear divide?  I am sure there is some scientific and rational reason.  I am just as certain that some of you could tell me the reason. Still, it is simply the status of things that strikes me.  There they were, trees of the same type, but so very different in their development.

It strikes me that people are a lot like those trees.  People surround us and we pass through them like leaves that have fallen from trees.  They interest us.  We are among them for a moment, and then they settle as we are gone.  Then there are the trees that blossom early, attract attention, and then become simply a part of the scenery.  And what of those who lose their vibrant color so much sooner than others.  What is that all about?  Yes, we see people around us, and in similar circumstances, but very different in development.  It is hard to understand all of the reasons.  It is easy to see that it is the way things are. 

Maybe we all need pause to consider how we respond to the opportunities of life around us.

Somewhere, there is a line that divides the cynic from the person with questions. You know what I mean, don’t you?  Questions are not always about doubt.  They are about clarification.  We are not inclined to believe that integrity is being attacked when we are asked a question.  Imagine, you meet a friend on the street and ask him what he has been doing lately.  He responds that he has been busy at work, and has had little time to do much else.  You then ask him if he is working for the same place that you remembered about him.  Enraged, he verbally attacks you, punches you in the nose, and claims that you are calling him a liar.  Now, that may seem to be a bit far fetched, and I guess it is.  Still, cynicism may be just the culprit that turns a question into an attack.  It seems to me that we have a hard time communicating without doubt.  We struggle to trust just about anyone, no matter how evident the truth of the matter is.

From the time we are small children we are taught to doubt.  Oh, I know we are also pressed to accept the word of our parents, family members, and a close circle of others.  We used to even accept the word of teachers, neighbors, and preachers.  Mixed in the messages of trust were those clear commands to never accept the word of a stranger.  It might seem a bit pedestrian in nature, but there is a basic admonition that may be at the beginning of the cynical course when it is said, “Never take candy from a stranger!”

As adults, our doubts of people become a little more involved and life affecting.  Consider the involvement of choosing civic and government leaders.  We may align with our group or party of preference, but at the same time we question the credibility of the very people for whom we cast our votes.  Seriously, we hear what they have to say, determine our votes, and then expect that they will not be completely true to their words.  I may be stretching the point a little bit, but not far.  And politicians are not the only ones for whom we reserve our skepticism.  We tend to be equal opportunity doubters.  Ask yourself when you last believed the claims of a new product, without reservation. 

There may be good reasons why we become cynical about politician and products.  It is the overflow that may be the matter of greater importance. 

God has given us undeniable reasons to believe.  When confronted with Jesus, many of the people of His times – especially the leaders - doubted and even rejected Him.  In spite of prophecy, miracles, and amazing teaching, they still doubted.  The cross of Jesus may be the greatest testimony to the effects of cynicism.  They should have believed.

Perhaps being cynical has never been more in vogue than it is in the present.  The evidence of the past two thousand years can be ignored and doubted with ease.  We have learned our lesson well.  We believe in ourselves and doubt others.  We even doubt God.  Oh, we don’t offer blatant denials.  We just offer quiet skepticism and go about our own business.

There are so many reasons to believe, and an empty tomb is the greatest testimony of all.  What would it take to convince you?

Luke 15:20

There is a picture on the wall of my father and me.  I am still a little boy, no more than three or four years in age.  My father is still a young man; we might say that he is in the prime of his life.  In the picture, we are standing on the front porch of the house where we lived when we first moved to Tulsa.  I am grasping the black railing that surrounds the porch.  My father is towering above me, waving toward the camera.  It’s an old black and white photo, and a snapshot of life. 

A wave is such a friendly gesture.  A kindly raised hand is a greeting that calls to others and tells them that they are welcome.  It is an observance that says we have recognized one another even if we cannot be close enough to speak the words.  It is a longing to reach across the time and distance and grasp the hand that is now raised. It is a parting gesture that expresses gratitude for having seen you and desire to see you again. 

I have seen my father’s raised hand many times.  Once or twice it was raised behind me, just before being applied to the seat of my pants.  I have also seen it raised while standing in a baptismal pool as he prepared to immerse someone into Christ.  I have seen his hand raised as he gestures in the midst of a point in a lesson.  I have seen his hand raised at many times and for many purposes, but never have I seen it raised in anger.  It was the same hand, much the same gesture, and truly from the same heart.

I have often thought of the picture of that young prodigal as he neared home.  The burdens of his life must have seemed so great.  He had seen a side of life that he may have wished he had never seen.  He knew his own mistakes.  He had even come to accept his losses.  He was not the same young man who had left his father’s home, not so long ago.  It must have been quite a journey, as he trekked toward home.  There must have been wonder in his mind, even as he rehearsed his apologetic speech.  He did not know what kind of reception would meet him.  Then there was his father.  What a marvelous picture it is.  There is all the depth of emotion that anyone could desire.  It was that young reprobate’s father that was running to greet him.  What an embrace it was.  It would be hard not to be touched by that moment.  It would be hard not to feel the power of that embrace, and to be enveloped in the genuineness of that love.

So, we pass through the years.  We may not wander as prodigals, but still we wander.  As the line of the song says, “I found myself further and further from my home.”  Then a picture calls.  It is a remembrance that touches on so many things.  It is a hand raised to wave and gesture through the years.  It is a siren call to love and value. 

Visits to home and my father are far too short now.  They are filled with love and admiration.  As I leave, there is always a familiar scene.  My father stands at the edge of the driveway, in front of his house.  There he raises that hand and waves.  He is an old man now, and the days are more precious.  I don’t know how many more times I will see him wave to me.  But I will not forget them, and see them as one. 

I will not hurry the day, but the thought of a poem by James Whitcomb Riley comes to mind.

With a cheery smile and the wave of the hand

He has wandered into an unknown land,

And he left us dreaming how very fair

I needs must be since he lingers there.

I hope you get the picture.

It was the first day of autumn, but I could still smell summer.  You know the smell.  Autumn is different.  There the musty smell of lingering moisture and the hint of burning leaves remind us of change.  Maybe the aroma brings to mind a morning walk, a Saturday afternoon after raking a yard, or even a hayride with a campfire.  Maybe there are thoughts of a special part of your life, maybe even teen years when love is so fresh, exciting, available, and yet elusive.  Football games, changing vibrant colors, and the sense of time being extremely valuable are all a part of autumn.  Such is the power of smell and the memory it elicits.    

Somewhere I read or heard that smell is the strongest long term memory that we have.  Some memories fade and become distorted with time.  Smell remains very strong.

So, it was the first day of autumn, but I could still smell summer.  As I stepped out of the gym a little rain had been falling.  The ground was lightly wet, and it was still sprinkling.  The very warm wind had stirred dust and other things into the air.  As the rain fell, it had that summer smell.  It took me to childhood. 

We would often go to a lake house, a fishing cabin that my grandparents had built.  It was at a small lake in the rugged country about thirty miles south of Sweetwater, Texas.  Some of my favorite memories are tied to that place and time.  Once in a while a thunderstorm would blow through the area and drop enough rain to moisten the settling dust.  There was with the storm a particular smell.  So as the smell on that first day of autumn reached into my rather large olfactory memory I was again a child.  My cousins and I would chase lizards, fish, swim, and wander through the countryside.  There was a simply ease to life.  There were no bills to pay.  There were no projects to be prepared.  Our biggest worry was whether we could make it to the water barefoot without any grass burrs.  Late in the day, my mother and grandparents would sit in the shade to relax and simply talk about whatever came to mind.  Life was good. 

I know that some smell memories are not exactly pleasant.  Still, it seems that the ones that are often override the ones that are not.  The smell of Sunday dinner, a beautiful girl’s perfume, a high school locker room, and your parents house are among those evocative memories that aroma brings to life.

We have our own aroma.  We carry it to the people with whom we share our lives.  I know that this interpersonal aroma is not so much about smell, but it does leave a lasting impression.  I do wonder from time to time, what kind of aroma I have left.

As I walked to the car on that first day of autumn and thought about those summers so long ago, I remembered good things.  Then a thought crossed my mind.  I wondered about the smells of heaven.  It has to be good.