League fellow Mayo Cook caught two ten-year-old boys trying to swipe apples from his orchard last week. It wasn’t a punishable offense as far as Mayo was concerned, but the boys didn’t know any better when Mayo popped out from behind a nearby hedge and asked them very casually what they were doing. He’s ornery that way.
The first boy, Ed Duggan’s son, Trip, turned a ghostly white, dropped the contraband from his arms, and hightailed it out of there so fast you would have thought he’d been raptured. Left behind was his accomplice, Micah Birchwood, who was still sitting in the tree, wide-eyed, with nowhere to escape. Of course, he tried to escape, but there was a difference of opinion between his body and his mind. His body wanted him to climb higher, but his mind was telling him to climb down. Amid the confusion the poor boy promptly fell out of the tree and slammed into the ground. Turns out gravity had the tiebreaker.
Mayo waited a few minutes until the boy got the air back into his lungs and then gently helped him sit up to look him over. Thankfully, nothing was broken except the boy’s pride, which had been seen going before the fall. Once recovered, however, the boy immediately went into damage control. “It wasn’t my idea,” he mumbled between weak sobs. “Trip dragged me into it.”
Behold the resurrection of pride.
Now ol’ Mayo, being a student of the Scriptures, had enough godly understanding under his bib overalls to recognize the telltale signs of the fallen spiritual condition. In fact, the boy’s profession of innocence was so blatantly Adamic, Mayo had to suppress a belly laugh that would have shook the apples off the trees. Nonetheless, as a recipient of undeserved mercy, Mayo resolved to respond in a way that pleased the Lord. If the boy wanted his coat, then Mayo would give him his cloak also.
“How’d you like a big slice of homemade apple pie to make you feel better?” Mayo asked with a mischievous grin and a jovial pat on the back.
Well, the boy was blindsided by the generous offer, and if he had known what Mayo was planning, he would have begged off and headed straight for home. But apple pie sounded mighty fine to him, so he gladly accepted. Micah the fly, meet Mayo the spider.
When the two of them got back to Mayo’s house, Mayo sat the boy down at the kitchen table, tucked a napkin under his chin, and went to get the freshly-baked pie that was cooling on the counter. Mayo’s wife was peeling potatoes by the sink and turned around. She spied the subtle smirk playing on her husband’s lips and knew he was up to something. “Who’s our guest?” she asked, playing along.
“Nell, you’ll never believe it. It was raining boys in the orchard, and this one hit the ground kinda hard,” Mayo explained. “I thought we might offer him a piece of apple pie and make sure he’s still healthy enough to eat.”
“Well, don’t forget to put a big dollop of whipped cream on his piece,” Nell suggested. “I’ve got a fresh batch in the fridge.” By now the boy’s mouth was salivating like Pavlov’s dog at a bell ringers convention.
Pie on plate with layers of warm, gooey apples, golden crust, and a majestic cloud of ivory topping, Mayo sat down across from Micah and slowly slid the dessert toward him. “Now before you start digging in, son, I want to ask you something,” Mayo said. “Do you know the difference between this apple pie and the apples in the orchard?”
“This is cooked and the others are raw?” the boy offered, hopelessly mesmerized by the pie in front of him.
“No,” Mayo replied gently. “The difference is… I gave you the apple pie. I don’t remember giving you the apples in the orchard.”
You had to hand it to ol’ Mayo; he had a way of rousting a fellow’s sleeping conscience, even if it was tucked snugly in bed under a pile of blankets on a chilly Sunday morning. Sure enough, Micah swallowed hard as the shame swept over his face. “Oh…”
“The funny thing is, son, I would have been happy to give you boys some of the apples– as many as you needed. As far as I’m concerned those apples belong to God and I’m only the caretaker. So I would’ve been blessed to share those apples with you. But what makes me sad is the fact that you went into the orchard not knowing that fact. Which means, whether you were dragged into it by your friend or not, you tried to take those apples knowing in your heart they weren’t yours. It makes you a thief, son. And nobody wants that charge attached to their name in the sight of God.”
The boy hung his head and sighed. Tears welled in his eyes. “I know, I know… I’m… sorry.”
There it was: remorse, a tad late, but a first step towards repentance. Offering a fork to the boy, Mayo said, “You’re forgiven, son. Now eat your pie, and let’s talk about where you might want to go from here.”
I relay this story (as Mayo told it to me) so that it might warm your heart to know that the unique Christian principles of humility, grace, and forgiveness can be a living testimony to the power of the Gospel. If that boy had spit in Mayo’s face instead of asking for pardon, it wouldn’t have changed Mayo’s resolve to follow the lead of Christ in turning the other cheek and allowing the Spirit to guide the outcome. This, I believe, is the very heart of the Christian life and witness.
As Proverbs 25:11 teaches us, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.” And so, too, is a testimony rightly displayed.
If you happen to pass by Cook’s Orchard this week, you’ll probably see two boys up on ladders picking apples that will be used by Nell Cook and the other Tyndale Sisters to make pies for the League bake sale. The boys are getting paid by the bushel, but more importantly, they’re learning about grace, hard work, and the stewardship of God’s marvelous provision.
So if you have the time, please stop and say hello to Micah and Trip while they’re picking. I’m sure they could use the encouragement. Just don’t come up behind them where they can’t see you. The lads are still a bit jumpy.
