The Fort

One of the advantages of growing up on a “pretend” farm is that it contained many of the enjoyable elements that a real farm would have, such as, an old barn, chicken coop, woods, climbable trees and other out buildings and garages.  Our barn was highly unsafe and we were not allowed to be in the loft of the barn…or more accurately…we were not allowed to let our mother to know that we were in the loft of the barn.  The floor was rotting through many places, which was covered with old hay and junk and it was difficult to know where to walk without falling through the floor and into the basement.  The roof of the chicken coop was falling in and many of the climbable trees would break you as they broke your fall when mis-stepping on a weak branch.

Fortunately, we had a father who not only cared for our safety, but also understood the adventurous spirit of boys and allowed us to build ourselves a fort in the attic of the garage. 

On the back side of the garage there was a small door that accessed the attic.  The door was about 2 feet wide, 3 feet high and around 20 feet off the ground.  He gave us a rickety old wooden ladder to access the porthole and supplied us with all of the old rusty nails we needed.  I have since then tried to keep safety as high of a priority as my dad did.  For example, just two week ago I fell from the rafters of my own garage while balancing with one foot on a boat, the other on a saw horse, and attempting to drive a screw into a 2x4 with a hammer.  My father has taught me so much!

 My older brother and I set to work converting the small elevated space into a fort of epic proportions.  We built a desk, a bench, a stool and some shelves.  I even found some old tiles and tiled the desktop surface.  To top off our elaborate investment, I channeled my inner “Stalag 13” and drafted a map of our entire property and secured it to an old roller shade.  I know that Colonel Hogan would have been proud and perhaps even a little envious.

The final touches to the fort included the rules.

1.      No sisters.

2.      No little brothers. (Though technically I was a younger brother to my older brother I was by size larger…not to mention I don’t think he caught on to the irony of the rule).

3.      There was only one way into the fort.

a.      Through the small door

b.      By invitation.

We had put a lock on the inside of the door to prevent any unwanted guests…however, without any lights and without any air circulation closing the door was only done in the most dire of circumstances. 

We cherished that space, relishing that fact that there was only one way into the sanctuary and we controlled it.

I am reminded of the similarity…and the stark difference that Jesus offers in the narrow path to eternal life.  Matthew 7:13-23 reveals Jesus’ words of this truth.  He says that there is a narrow gate that few find.  He says it is a difficult path, but the path will lead to eternal life.  In contrast, he speaks of a wide path that leads to destruction.  The difference between Jesus and myself is that he WANTS people to find and take the narrow gate, whereas, I as a child, wanted to keep it for myself. 

I think what concerns me the most in this passage are two of Jesus’ words…many and few.  Though Jesus has offered the narrow gate to all, we find that very few will take it.  In fact, many of us…most of us even…will avoid the narrow gate believing that we can make it to eternity with Jesus some other way...our own way…the wide way…a way of ourselves, that we control.

May we take an honest look on the path that we are on.  Are we on the narrow path and difficult path of following Jesus?  Or perhaps we are finding ourselves moving on the wide path of our own righteousness and pursuits of the world.