Allegory of the Little Stream

I went to college a long time ago at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. In the summertime I make a yearly trek back to the school for some enrichment education.  This year I found something had changed on the lower part of campus.  Let me set the scene for you:  BYU is located in the foothills of the majestic Wasatch Mountains.  They are spectacular.  When I was a student, the southern hill leading to campus was well manicured with walkways, grass, lots of trees and a botany pond.  Following one of the trails you would see a slow moving stream meandering its way down and around the hill.  It was pretty, serene and peaceful.  Many engagements have taken place at the Botany Pond.  And unfortunately since "there needs be opposition in all things" danger lurked at night as many young coeds have been attacked there as well.  We were always warned never to go through the area alone at night.

I heard the BYU Ground's Crew had been consructing with rocks and waterfalls on the already beautiful pathway and stream.  I wanted to check it out and this is what I found:        

One of many waterfalls along the walkway.

This almost looks like an ancient Greek ruin. 

I have been studying the Allegory of the Tame and Wild Olive Tree found in The Book of Mormon, Jacob 5. The chapter heading says the tame and wild olive tree are a likeness to Israel and the Gentiles.  I see a meaning more personal to me.  The Lord of the vineyard would not give up on the decaying trees, he grafted, digged about, pruned and nourished His trees. He even planted some in the nethermost part of the garden where possibly the ground wasn't as fertile. I might be simplifying this very long chapter in the book of Jacob, but I draw the sweet conclusion that I must not ever give up on my children.

So what does this allegory have to do with the little stream?  The walkway along the south end of campus was lovely.  Then servants digged about, raked, placed local stones, figured out how to make waterfalls, and nourished the new plants to make the area at the south end of campus even more lovely.  I wonder if the water or the pathway or if the rocks could talk they might say it was painful to be changed.  Andy is being changed.  It is painful.  Could it be more painful for me than him?  Could I be the one who is being changed?

Andy was sentenced a few weeks ago: 12 years in a state correctional facility, PRISON. I dreaded the day when he would call and tell us the consequences of his court hearings.  Just thinking about it made me sick to my stomach. After hearing that 12 years actually means 6 years and the fact he has served nine months already, he may be there less than 5 years.  Certainly long enough, but hopefully long enough for a change.  I hope both of us change for the better as we are being pruned, grafted, and digged about.  Andy might be in the nethermost part of the vineyard, but he will still be nourished so he can grow and produce sweet, edible fruit.              

Nothing New

Nothing new has happened except that the public defender is trying to get the prosecutor thrown out for misconduct concerning Andy's case.  Allegedly the attorney for the prosecution was tweeting, texting, emailing about the case and that she is "going to get him."  How the defense attorney found this out, I have no idea, but in the meantime more time passes.  Which is not a bad thing because it counts as time he has served, and where he is right now is a better place to be serving than in another.  His optimism has waned, and he has sounded more discouraged the last few times we have talked.  I don't know that he has turned any kind of corner or is ready to make changes in his life.  

Andy's dad and I were talking to a guy about our children the other day.  We said we had five children, the oldest a disciplined athlete who trains endurance athletes to do the same, a daughter who is a therapist for at-risk youth, one son going to medical school, and the other an Orthopaedic Surgeon.  He expressed his amazement at such accomplishments and said what great parents we are, blah, blah, blah.  I reached over, touched his arm and said, "don't get too impressed, we have one son in jail."  This son keeps us humble, but not ashamed.  I will not hide in a closet because of the choices he has made.  I think that is a huge part of my healing from this sad story.  I still have hope for this son.  His life is not over; he can become all he was sent to the the earth to become.  It might be plan B or even plan C, but there is hope.  And should his life end before that miracle of change takes place, I believe the opportunity for progression will be there for him, for all of us.