Sunday Best – August 4, 2023
During a happily unplugged stretch in the mountains this week, I ventured out for a small hike. Though the trail was steep, it was short, and the views from above promised to be terrific.
The trouble was, the very first steps were across a quick moving creek – not a dangerous river, but for a non-swimming, not-super-graceful hiker like me, the space between the rocks looked too daunting to hop.
Eventually I found a path through a marshy area and worked my way through a delightful thicket of wildflowers to get back to the trail. Indeed, the views were worth the effort.
On the return trip, I missed the cutoff for my improvised swampy path and found myself back on the banks of the stream. Lo and behold, from the other side, the stepping stones were perfectly easy to navigate, big and steady and no leaps required.
Dear ones, what can we do when our first steps are full of adversity?
Sometimes turning around is wise.
Sometimes a new path can be found.
And sometimes, the challenges are not as great as they first appear.
We might just need a different vantage point.
Sunday Best – July 28, 2024
We were all lined up to board a flight the other day when the attendant said those words that strike dread into the heart of every traveler, “folks, we have a small issue…” In the blink of an eye we went from an on time departure to a 3 hour delay. Groans and cuss words echoed throughout the gate area.
Not five minutes later, they took it back! As we lined up once more, everyone was shaking their heads, this time in happy disbelief. Total strangers high-fived. Within a few minutes we were taxing down the runway.
Friends, sometimes only the threat of something worse reminds us how extraordinary the ordinary is.
May all of our obstacles be temporary.
May all of our bad news be rescinded.
May all of our hopes and plans take flight.
Sunday Best – July 21, 2024
One great thing about beekeeping is that it can offer a compressed view of life’s greatest realities. For example, right now it is prime brood-building season, with dozens of bees born every day in a healthy hive. The circle of life is spinning ‘round at dizzying speeds.
The other day, I spotted several cells that were partially open, with tiny antennae poking out above. A bunch of baby bees were emerging! Other bees that were passing by would stop to exchange some signals of their own, which had me thinking of the amazing mysteries of non-human communication. But then in the very next instant, the visitors would step on the eyeballs of their soon-to-be sisters, which is hard to romanticize as a loving welcome.
A few minutes later, after a long stretch of what can only be described as intense insect pull-ups, the baby bees had emerged and were already walking amongst their sisters, undetectable except for their lighter fuzz. You would never know that a few minutes beforehand they’d been sealed up in a wax cell. And that a few days ago, they were still gooey works-in-progress.
Dear ones, isn’t this all of life?
Glorious and tedious.
Miraculous and mundane.
Both at once, most of the time.
May we persist, even when our own kin step on our heads.
May we find the strength to emerge whole and healthy.
May we see the glory in our gooey work in progress.
Sunday Best – July 14, 2024
On my walk home the other night, a shadowy lump bolted across the sidewalk in front of me. I froze. The lump froze.
If you’ve ever walked the city streets at night, you know what the lumps are. In decades of urban life, I have seen approximately ten thousand furry shadows, and every single one of them has been a rat.
On this night, I took a breath, ready to hurry past.
The lump leapt into the light.
Not rat, but rabbit!
In my certainty I’d nearly rushed right by.
Dear ones,
may we all be on the lookout for a midnight bunny.
Even if – especially if –
she follows ten thousand rats.
Sunday Best – July 7, 2024
What better reminder of our complete lack of control in this chaotic world than a surprise thunderstorm? Unpredicted by all the fancy weather apps, it arrived just in time to soak through my grocery bag and send the lemons rolling across the walkway, while a puddle formed beneath the wide-open kitchen windows. For a moment, it was overwhelming. Bedlam.
Just five minutes later, I’d gathered the lemons, dried off my face, mopped up the puddle, and wandered back outside to find a tiny rainbow fragment overhead.
Dear ones, the storms will come. Sometimes surprising, and fierce.
May the downpours be brief.
May we be sheltered.
May we regroup.
May the rainbows rush in.
