The Daffodils

There’s a lot of hope and a lot of faith and love mixed up in a miracle – MEINDERT DEJONG

My wife and I went out for a drive as we are wont to do from time to time. It was a weekday evening and, what with the time change and lengthening of days of early spring (and a nice day, to boot), I thought we’d go out and see the daffodils growing commercially in fields just west of us.

I wasn’t exactly sure where we would find them – I think the local farms are better known for their tulips (which don’t come into bloom for another month or two) – but I knew that if I drove around aimlessly for a while I would surely discover them.

We headed west towards Anacortes on the old Memorial Highway and sure enough, there they were: fields of bright yellow daffodils swaying in the breeze. I grabbed a few quick snaps from my phone for, alas, I had left my good camera at home. My brother-in-law’s words bounced around the cavern between my ears: “You can’t get pictures if you don’t take your camera.” He won’t read this so it’s safe to say this openly: He’s right!

While cell phone cameras have come a long way, and while some can take breath-taking photos, my phone isn’t one of those. So I got some decent shots, but nothing as spectacular as what we saw before us, but that’s OK. Perfection is God’s responsibility, not mine.

While I enjoy photography as a hobby (and I am really a beginner of a novice, and not really even a novice yet), the fact is I am finding joy in simply living. While it is nice taking pictures (and quite ego-stroking setting up the tripod, changing lenses, playing with focus, composition, f-stops, and the like – to the oos and the ahs of the local lookie-loos), I am coming to appreciate actually just being “in the moment” –  like looking at a field of flowers swaying ever so gently in the breeze. It was truly a “wow” moment.

Lifting up my eyes from the field of golden daffodils (do they come in any other color?), I gazed to the east and couldn’t help but notice the clouds billowing over the north Cascade Mountains. It wasn’t the usual flat gray slate that usually hangs over our part of the world. These were angry, well-defined and muscular storm clouds looking to put some serious water down on the hills to the east. Again, all I could do is let out an almost imperceptible “wow.”

Living in the moment. What a concept. I forget who it was who said, “There is no past; there is no future; there is only now – ever only now.” Incidentally, if no one actually ever said that, I’ll be happy to take credit. Please send royalties my way via the Madisonian.

It has been said that a miracle is an event that can’t be explained with the laws of science or nature, but I would disagree completely. Just the complexity of the universe in which we live is a miracle. Just the fact that a seed or bulb can be shoved into a bit of black or brown dirt and come up in bright green and yellows is a miracle.

The fact you and I can see that stuff – and knowing we don’t really see it, but an image of reflected light is caught by lenses that evolved over more millennia than we can count, hits a fleshy slate containing rods and cones at the back of our eyeballs (upside down, no less), is converted to chemical and electrical impulses that snap, crackle, and pop along an optic nerve to a patch of gray matter that lies between our ears, and is perceived (right side up) as something which then causes other parts of our body to secrete endorphins that eventually produces a smile upon one’s mug – that’s a miracle!

Miracles are everywhere. All we need to do is look around with eyes to see, and listen with ears to hear.

To appreciate what we have, and what we see, and what we hear, and what we feel, and what we experience – and that we can do it alone or in community – by golly, those are also miracles here now in this, our valley.

On Track

Whatever you want to do, do it. There are only so many tomorrows. Anonymous

Life is sometimes likened to a train trip. It has a starting point and a destination. We’re on the journey, but we’re not driving the engine. As long as the train is sufficiently fueled, properly maintained, and stays on the track, the passenger need not worry or fret, for all is in good hands. So …

Winters here on the north end of the I-5 corridor are not nearly as rough, wet, or icy as they are in southwest Montana, but they can be quite gray and dreary. As much of a home-body as I am, it is nice getting out every now and then to do something new and different.

To help break up some of the monotony, I did a bit of research and discovered I could catch a train and visit Seattle for less than what it would cost to drive down and pay to park in the city, so that’s what we did.

What a pleasant way to travel! We got to the train station here in town (with free parking – how convenient is that!?). There were no crowds, no lines or queues, no baggage handlers or x-ray machines. There was just a handful of fellow sojourners hanging around making small talk and waiting for the arrival of the 9 o’clocker.

The passenger train glided into the station very quickly (and surprisingly quietly) about twenty minutes late, but no one seemed flustered, fretful, or bothered by the delay. We were directed to our cars by the friendly rail-crew and allowed to sit wherever we wanted. We were in the economy class, but our seats were very comfortable and spacious – nothing at all like airline seats!

As quickly as the train had arrived, it departed the station giving a long, cheerful wail of its air-horn. I was surprised at how swiftly it got up to speed, rolling down the track with a … What?

Where was the clickity-clack of the track? Somehow, the traditional sound of wheels rolling over track seams was gone! I hadn’t been on a train since the mid-1960s, and one of the true joys of train travel back then had been the simultaneous swaying of the train as it sped down the track, and the rhythmic clacking of the wheels as they rolled over each succeeding section of rail.

The iron ribbon has become seamless, it seems (no pun intended). For those who appreciate a quiet environment, it was certainly an improvement. In fact, the entire journey was tranquil. We didn’t have the constant roar of jet engines or the dings, pings, or intrusion of pilot-to-crew instructions. We travelers could actually have a normal conversation!

The only directives we received were given face-to-face by the conductor who pointed our way to the Bistro car, where we could go pick up refreshments (which we did). While standing in line awaiting our turn, one woman turned to my wife and said, “9 o’clock is too early to catch a train.” After a brief pause she added, “… but not for Bloody Mary!” which she ordered, received, and carried almost amorously back to her car.

The train made all of its stops along its route and yet we still made up for the late departure and reached the King Street Station in Seattle right on schedule.

There is something delightful to be found in letting someone else do the driving. I wasn’t worn out with a white-knuckle drive along a congested freeway. There were no potholes to avoid, lanes to change, or blue light specials to worry about.

We made our way from the heart of our town to the heart of the Emerald City in less than two hours. When we were finished for the day, having done our sight-seeing and visiting with our son, we caught the early evening train home and arrived exhausted from the day’s activities, but not from the day’s journey. What a blessing!

Life is sometimes likened to a train trip. I couldn’t agree more. Each of us had our own destinations, plans, and “stories,” but we journeyed peaceably together. For the crew, it was a milk run; for some passengers it was party-time; for others, coffee-on-the-go. For me? It was a rolling parable; kingdom living in this, our valley.

A Loving Embrace

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved." – Helen Keller

I was talking to a friend the other day; he mentioned in passing how much the Christian faith has changed over the centuries.

“For the first three hundred years,” he said, “Christians were identified by the things they did. After Constantine, they were identified by what they believed.”

That’s a very profound insight and one to which I hadn’t given much thought, but it makes sense.

I wonder what it is about the human condition that impels us to hold opinions, and then to use those opinions as yardsticks against which to measure others – for inclusion or exclusion.

When I look at the world of animals, I’m not sure I have ever seen opinions expressed by creatures which are not human. A dog may prefer one kind of food over another if given a choice, but I don’t know of one that would exclude from its pack a hound that preferred rabbit to beef.

Are we all that different from dogs, cats, or other members of critterdom? Do we make choices based upon belief, or do we make them based upon our desire to belong and to be a part of some larger group?

Aren’t the principles we embrace a means by which we describe who we are and how we have learned to relate to one another? Isn’t that, in essence, what a belief is: a description of who we are and how we have decided to live out that identity?

In the early days, it was said of Christians, “My, see how they love one another.”

These days, however, we drive down the street and see churches that come in many shapes and sizes, with many different rules and regulation – each striving to convince folks that their brand is better than the competing brand down the block; people still look at Christians and continue to say, “My, see how they love one another,” but honestly, it’s not admiration they’re expressing, is it? Sigh.

Marcus Borg once pointed out that our English word “believe” has its roots in the Old German word “belieben” (beloved), so that belief (for him) had less to do with the head (an opinion held by the mind) and more with the heart (a person we hold most dear). It was Borg’s perspective that when we say, “We believe,” what we mean is, “We embrace.”

The point is that we don’t believe in God as a theological principle. The Bible tells us the devil also believes in God – and trembles! Rather, we embrace God who created us (and who desires to live in love and harmony with us); we embrace God who delivers us from evil so that we may be all God created us to be; and we embrace God who strengthens us so that we may be of service to God, our neighbors, and ourselves.

Embracing God is like embracing your parents, your children, your spouse, or your significant other; it’s personal!

I don’t embrace the Ten Commandments; I embrace God who delivered one Law (in three parts): Love God completely; love your neighbor justly and mercifully; and love yourself gently.

Everything else from Genesis to Revelation is just commentary. The scriptures give us food for thought, but we have turned the meal into a Food Fight over the course of “God only knows” how many eons.

We do violence to God (and one another) when we confuse what we believe with the One in whom we believe. We run the danger of being idolaters when we make the Bible our golden calf. We run the risk of being bigots when we alienate ourselves from our neighbors, using creeds as cudgels to compel, rather than as an “art-form that in-forms.”

This, I believe, is as true of our politics as of our spirituality.

Are all beliefs equally valid or good? Of course not, but we ought to ask whether people are being helped or hurt by what we do – for our actions flow from our beliefs.

If we hurt others, we must change our actions, and we will discover joy as God works to restore us and our relationships, and I believe that would be good for everyone in this, our valley.