30 Years Later

Thirty years ago this very summer I walked toward a wood paneled cabin built on stilts in the Redwood and Ponderosa Pines of Mount Hermon and was enraptured by a beautiful young lady standing on the porch. She introduced herself to me as Vicki Tholen from Seattle, Washington. And that was the genesis of a formation designed by God that has grown into our own Redwood version of a strong, towering tree providing nourishment and shelter not only to one another, but to all those seedlings He's placed in our care.

Last night we returned from a week long family camp at Mount Hermon that was now our seventeenth consecutive year of vacationing there. Victoria and I can easily keep count because she was pregnant with Barret that first summer we drove up from Redondo Beach, California to enjoy the nostalgia of our courtship. Austin, Annie and Barret all have such fond memories of summer vacations at Mount Hermon, always begging and pleading to return as we drove out of the driveway to head back home each time we spent a refreshing week there. And now Poppy has been there three summers in row, and Willow twice. They, too, are developing strong bonds and attachments to this place we like to think of as hallowed ground. In fact, Poppy remarked as we were driving down the hill out of the camp, "I'm sad to leave Mount Hermon." We all know how she feels.

It was an exceptional week for Victoria, Barret, Poppy, Willow and me. It did seem a little incomplete and odd in a strange way not to have Austin (& Meagan) and Annie there. (Both Austin and Annie have worked there in recent summer's past.) The teaching was awesome, the food abundant, warm and tasty, and the weather breathtakingly perfect. There's so much to write about and tell that it simply cannot be captured here.

I will share one tender moment (among o' so many) I had with Poppy while I was trying to put her to bed one evening early in the week. The girls were pretty wound up about being at Mount Hermon, so getting them to sleep those first few nights wasn't a simple task. As I laid there on the bed with Poppy and the dusk light was just about to vanish, she softly said to me, "Daddy, I don't like the dark-time; it makes me sad." "What about it makes you so sad, Sweetie?", I asked. "It's just that everything has to come to an end", said Poppy. I had to stop and think for a moment because I knew this was a tender teaching time that would have either been lost forever or seized upon to impart what little wisdom I possessed. So I said to her, "Sweetie, it's not the end, it's actually the beginning. And just think, God can speak to you all night and give you enough rest so that tomorrow is even more exciting than today."

She seemed to be comforted by that, but her momentary sorrow did get me to start thinking. Because I know Poppy, I happen to also know that she's a bit afraid of the dark, which contributed to her hesitation to close her eyes and fall asleep that night in a new and strange surrounding. I know how she feels (most of us were probably afraid of the dark when we were little). Darkness is nothingness. We all went on a train ride this week into Santa Cruz (departed from Mount Hermon) and we eventually ended up in a tunnel that was several hundred meters long. By the time we got to the middle of the tunnel you could not see the entrance or the exit, so it was pitch black. There was no perspective or sense of dimension whatsoever. What is that? It's nothingness. It's alone-ness. That's a scary place to be. Knowing that we'd eventually get to the other side and greeted by towering Redwoods gave comfort. But what if we were trapped in that tunnel for awhile? What if we were trapped in darkness for a lifetime, or an eternity?

Poppy (or Willow) doesn't need to be alone, left in the dark. None of us do. Jesus said, "I am the light of the world; he who follows me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life." (John 8:12b) Because we've been shown the light which brightens our paths, we can now follow with the light of life. And once we possess that light of life, we become light ourselves because Jesus said that, "You are the light of the world." (Matthew 5:14a) And there's nothing Victoria and I want more than for our children to have the light of life. This I would have loved to have shared with Poppy that evening, but couldn't think that quickly. I hope to have it on the tip of my tongue the next time she expresses her sorrow over the darkening of the night.

Refreshed in Jesus,

Tom (& Victoria)