My Tower of Babel




Rolling up my sleeves, I set out to build my Tower. I didn’t need the actual blueprints; they were embedded in my overly zealous DNA. Worldly desires prodded me and I had an insatiable covetous monster needing to be fed. 

I wanted a car, a house, and classy furniture. I didn’t care so much about clothes, I just wanted to be able to open my purse and say, “yes” to whatever I wanted. All I lacked was money.





Everyone needs money. The key is finding a way to get someone else’s money into your pocket—legally, of course.  Building a career took more time than I hoped. I lost precious years and noticed other towers were taller than mine. Showy sedans and sleek, shiny sports cars were next to those towers. And the owners wore amazing clothes as they climbed into those luxury autos. Maybe I’d been hasty about not wanting nice clothes.
 
As money came in, I got right to work building steep walls straight to the sky. No limits, no need to slow down. I might be late to the party, but I was determined to make a dynamic entrance.

I never knew how amazing the view was going to be from my Tower’s height. The people far below were insignificant specks. I kept stacking layers. I hadn’t noticed that there wasn’t room for many others on my Tower. No worries, I didn’t have time for them anyway. 

I scanned the neighboring towers. I held my binoculars and stared into their spectacular mansions perched precariously on top. Then I saw something I hadn’t expected—behind the designer labels, I recognized the same look of despair that I’d seen in my own mirror. 




I stretched my arms wide and took in all that I could see and then leapt from the top of my Tower. People may have wondered why I jumped.  I’m not entirely certain. The fall to the bottom didn’t kill me; it merely humbled me. All of the years spent building with so little to show for it. Now I was much older. Certainly more tired. I wouldn’t be building a tower again.

Just as in the days of Nimrod, my Tower was built for the wrong reasons. I believed that the higher I got the happier I’d be. Through God’s gifts we can build amazing things—but I had chosen my own purpose, not His. When God blessed America, He trusted us to offer others what He'd offered us—freedom. It's up to me to do my part to help.
 
Labor Day reminds me of the generations of labor that built America. They left me the tools to build and the freedom to do it. Those who follow me deserve the same. My Tower  had a nice view, but God needed me on the ground to help build a better place. That meant learning to serve God and not just myself.


America is as much who we are as where we live. As we honor our nation's labor, let our work have real meaning—it's not about the stuff we can buy, but a legacy of love for one another and for our nation.


“While the storm clouds gather far across the sea, let us swear allegiance to a land that’s free, let us all be grateful for a land so fair, as we raise our voices in a solemn prayer.”  From Irving Berlin’s God Bless America

Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming cost...
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Planting Good Seeds

Image
Harvest will always depend on what we plant and how well we care for our crop.    Looking over my seed packets, I notice they’re different than the ones I planted before. One package is called Word seeds. The directions say that each of my words is a seed, so it cautions me to think before I speak. Harsh words don’t produce sweet, nourishing fruit. These seeds will require thoughtful care in the garden. I see some Volunteer seeds. Those extra hours I tend to fritter away are going to be planted in a useful project.   It looks like time isn’t wasted in this garden plot. Next are some Love seeds—the directions are interesting: get up each day and love others. No specifics are given—just do something for someone every day. The seed package shows pictures of smiling faces. I smile back. As I’m ready to head to the garden with my seeds, a package falls to the ground. I open it. Inside are the tiniest seeds I’ve ever seen—but the directions s...
Read more