He was a good frog

Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,

Wheat that in dark earth many days has lain;

Love lives again, that with the dead has been:

Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.

So begins Max's favorite hymn, which he sang this morning for our friend and pet, Frog 1, who died sometime last night.

Now, I know he was only a tiny amphibian creature. But he was with us for two years (pretty long for a tree frog!) and he was Max's first pet. And, he was part of what made moving to New Jersey OK, what allowed all of us to adjust to a strange place. Frog 1, and his partner Frog 2, were the pets we always promised we would get, but never had the time for in Maryland what with work and my time in seminary, and a million other excuses. (I suppose it is worth explaining at this point, that Max gave the frogs their names. After pondering many options, Frog 1 and Frog 2 just seemed to fit them, so thus they were known.)

And now Frog 1 has, as our old Rector used to say, "gone on to the life of greater service."

It was a lovely little service in the back yard.

Brook had gently scooped him up out of the terrarium and into a waiting ziploc bag. He brought Frog 1 down stairs and then went to get the shovel from the garage. Max picked out a nice spot in the back yard--on a little rise where a pine tree used to be--and bravely took the shovel from his dad so that he could dig the tiny hole himself. There we were, this funny little family--me in my gym-going clothes, Brook dressed for work, Malcolm barely awake and in his pajamas, and sweet little Max seeing to the final resting place of his beloved frog. Crying at the grave of a tiny green creature.

Suddenly Max dashed off, and for a moment I thought it had all become too much for him and that he was running to escape. But then he returned with a small plastic vial in hand. He carefully opened it and, after Brook had placed Frog 1 in the dirt, poured the watery liquid around the tiny body. When I asked Max what the liquid was he said it was his own DNA, somehow preserved during a science class last year. "Now I will always be with him," said Max.

As directed in the Prayer Book, we "cast earth upon the [grave]" until the hole was filled in and Frog 1 was no longer visible. Then Max sprinted off again, this time to the creek, and came back with a large flat stone to mark the grave. More digging, and it was securely planted in the ground. One final blessing, and we made our way back inside to wash hands, hug, and get on with the day.

He was only a frog, but he was loved, and he was part of God's beautiful creation. And so we have returned him to the Creator who gave us care over him for just a little while.

And I have witnessed the tender heart of my young man, and seen the way he loves and cares for God's creatures. What more could a parent ask than for a boy who weeps at the grave of his frog and yet still sings of a love that lives again? Nothing more.