Fence Lessons

f you were in church on Easter Sunday you heard me say that I was going to put in a garden fence during my vacation time. That is precisely what my spouse and I did one day last week. 

Our backyard already is fenced, however, rabbits are still able to get in and out rather freely. Then, of course, there is the matter of two dogs, both over 50 pounds, who like to chase squirrels and birds regardless of whether or not something is planted in their way. 

Doing the fence was a 1 and 1/2 day project, and it was definitely an all hands on deck situation. Alone, I put in the fence posts, but there was no way I could have gotten everything tight enough or held the hardware cloth just right in order to attach it to the fence posts. But, with my spouse's help on the one day of vacation they had to use for the project, we got it done. We even built a small, primitive gate that does the trick for letting us in and out, but also does the trick of keeping out everything we want to keep out of our garden. 

On Sunday morning I sat on our backyard patio and stared at the garden fence for a long time. As I sipped my coffee in the morning sunlight, I thought about all of the borders that exist in our world and in our lives today. Some serve us well, but others stopped serving us a long time ago–if they ever really did. 

This week marks one year (on Thursday) since my nephew died, and I will be honest in saying that there are some borders I have erected around my heart and in my spirit that have helped me get through this past year. For example, I haven’t let myself think about what might have been if he had survived his motorcycle accident. I don't let myself linger too much at the cemetery where his body now rests. I visit sometimes, sure, but for me, that is not a place where he is. For others in my family, the opposite is true. 

For a long time I would apologize for crying in the company of others when speaking of the loss, somehow believing that walling off my tears might better serve me in the moment. I also put a big border around joy– experiencing it, sharing it, softening into it. You name it, I fenced it off. I think, perhaps, I believed that letting myself experience joy, or sharing joy with others, or simply softening into the joy of a moment was somehow forgetting my nephew and all that we lost when we lost him. Not realizing, of course, that when I honor and appreciate what I have, I somehow also honor and appreciate what we lost. 

So this week, I'm letting the garden fence be a good border to keep our dogs and the rabbits and the squirrels from feasting on all of the plants my spouse has so lovingly tended in our indoor growing area from seed. I'm letting our backyard fences keep random neighborhood dogs and cats from our backyard as well. I'm letting our flower bed borders do the work of retaining our mulch and our rock. I'm letting some of the boundaries in my relationships with others, as well as some of the boundaries I have placed around my time remain as well. Because those borders still serve me. They offer definition where it is needed.

But as for the rest of the borders and fences and walls that I've erected in my heart and in my mind–out of necessity or perceived need–I'm going to do my best to let them fall to the floor. I'm going to do the work of carefully dismantling that which keeps me from experiencing the full life that God in Christ desires for each and every one of us. And I hope you will join me.

In John 10:10, the gospel writer reports Jesus teaching that, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” Therein lies an invitation for deeper reflection:  What fences and borders and walls in your life are like that thief? What have you put in place that perhaps once served you well for a moment or a season, but now is only stealing from you, or killing your relationships with yourself and others, or destroying parts of your life in some way, shape, or form? What boundary or border needs to be pulled down? Which ones need to remain?

The answers to those questions and more will come through discernment and a willingness to lean into the abundant, but sometimes frightening and sorrowful, life that Jesus taught about. I'm hopeful that we can learn to lean in together. 

Discerning and leaning in with you,
Pr. Melissa 

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