What We Think We See

 

When venturing out these evenings, I am mesmerized by lights. Recently, long lines of cars filled the late autumn darkness with what seemed like a thousand glistening spider webs, awesome in their perfection. White, bluish, and red, they appeared as the frozen, steady glow of large individual sparks from a giant Fourth of July sparkler. Honestly, they’re hard to describe in their brilliant uniqueness. And it’s all because of my “new eyes.”

 

I distinctly remember the small room and hallway; it seemed like a whole new world to my left eye. No one told me that my vision had darkened, yellowed, and become blurry THAT much. Possibly they did, but I hadn’t believed them. I thought I could see just fine; could still read, if the light was bright enough; could still see traffic signs, if I got close enough. I’d put off the surgery for a few years, knowing it was just a matter of time before I’d really need it. The eye doctor told me that everyone, if they lived long enough, was likely to develop cataracts. Also, that the procedures had improved over time, there were choices as to what kind of lens to have put in, and that the success rate was high. I didn’t fear the surgery, but life was busy, and I just couldn’t be bothered. When I finally decided to go ahead, the results were more than I ever expected.

 

After the second surgery, my right eye took longer to heal and focus. During the first long week of recovery, the thought occurred to me that I might never see well through that eye again. There was always that slight possibility, of course, but I clung to the hope that all would end well. Fortunately, it did, and I was greatly  surprised by the vision I now have: objects in clear focus both near and far; colors that look pleasingly different from before; overall, a brighter, whiter world. The new artificial lenses in my eyes allow me to see all this, BUT, bright lights shining directly at me (including the myriad stars in the night sky…) appear with these magnificent prisms of light radiating out of them.

 

Life is full of risks, and sometimes we have no option about taking them. Often, however, we can choose and must carefully weigh what’s at stake and if the risk is worth it. This year, during this season, I contemplate what vision really is and wonder: What if Mary had never believed the angel and had run away or Joseph had rejected her as she was, unborn child and all? What if the journey to Bethlehem had never been taken or the innkeeper had found room for two more? What if the shepherds had hidden in fear or the angels had been out on strike? What if the Magi had miscalculated the position of that one bright star or had done exactly as King Herod requested? What if we find we don’t really believe it at all? What is it we think we see and does or can that vision ever change?

 

My faith journey, as perhaps yours, has been long, meandering, and evolving. I’ve taken some wrong turns and come to some dead ends, hit some slick spots and lost control. I’ve had to stop to re-fuel or just take a rest, but I’ve kept going just the same. For I know that I’m not the main driver; the light continues to shine, directing and guiding my trek through this thing called life. Sometimes, it even appears as a giant sparkler, giving me joy in the darkest of nights.

 

This season, I wish the same for you.

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, "I am the  light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."   ~ John 8: 12

Spring in the Greenhouse

 

Thinking back to my childhood, I try to remember what first signaled Spring to me those many years ago. I remember snow – lots and lots of snow. Piled high along the edges of the streets where the snow plows had pushed it, stained dark gray from the dust and months of shoveling, it often rose higher than my head. And then, almost unperceptively, it became a soggy brown slush that was fun to splash through, but not so much when spewed up from beneath a passing car. It ran in dirty rivulets down street gutters, disappeared into corner drains, carrying with it the muck from a long, frozen season. As hillsides, yards, and gardens again became visible from under the sodden blanket, new green growth gradually pushed up. Most of all, I remember crocuses – brilliant splashes of deep purple and sunny gold against dark, soggy earth.

In our greenhouses, spring arrived early. Entering them was like arriving at some other, more exotic, part of the world - warm, humid, and sweetly scented. The heat was generated in a huge, gas-fired boiler in the basement which heated water that passed through cast iron pipes that ran under each of the long, wooden benches.
 

Photo from homedepot.com

The benches were filled with dark, rich, soil and tall carnations of red, pink, and white. To this day I love the white ones best because of their spicy, cinnamon-like scent. There were also potted plants set on flat wooden platforms on top of some of the unplanted benches.

 Photo from flowers-in-world.blogspot.com

 

I can picture the pink and white azaleas, magenta cyclamens, calceolaria with their purse-like spotted yellow and orange flowers, daisy-like cinnerareas, and row upon row of Easter lilies. The super-sweet smell of the lilies trumped all the other scents as Easter neared and their number increased. Many began to sport brightly-colored foil wrappings with satin bows, lined up like so many spotless children ready for a birthday party.

 

Photo from plantsrescue.com

 

These plants all needed care – weeding, fertilizing, watering, and occasional pest-removal. The daily watering increased the humidity, which caused the single paned glass houses to fog up with the still frigid air outside. The heat and humidity were in there all year long, as were some of the flowering plants, but the lilies only came around Easter time.

 

 Photo from writeopinions.com

We could, and did, bring plants and flowers into our house most any time we wanted, which was a privilege and a luxury that I now know I didn’t appreciate at the time. We always had an Easter lily and a lovely spring centerpiece for our dinner on Easter Sunday. Even though it sometimes snowed then, signaling that winter was not “quite” over yet, it was always Springtime at Easter inside our home. If I close my eyes and remember those times, I always smell the sweetness of the lilies.

 

No matter what date it fell on or whether it snowed again, Easter always ushered in Spring. We knew that it was only a matter of time before tulip and daffodils sprouted and bloomed, followed by lilacs and crabapple blossoms. The snow finally disappeared altogether, the air warmed, mud dried up, grass turned green and grew tall. The morning came when we awoke to the familiar song of the robin, back from its winter migration and by evening we’d hear the mournful cry of the mourning dove perched on the power line above the back alley.

 

Photo from flowerspictures.org

 

Everything was fresh and new again – sun, warmth, growth, flowers, scents, and song.

A stimulating renewal after a long, frozen winter.

To me, this truly signifies what Easter is all about.

For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.            Song of Solomon 2:11-12

HOLD ON

Sometimes,

A wallop catches us

Off guard

a card, dealt under the table

Unfairly, perhaps,

A nasty slight of hand

Strong enough to numb

And cast us abroad

Into an endless sea of fear and doubt

Tossed about

Helpless to do anything but

Barely hold our heads above water

It may be bad news, a crushing loss,

Circumstances that lay us flat

Render us unable to even clear our mind

We find

We have no idea who we are or where we’re headed

We struggle – aimlessly, even fiercely -

But to no avail

For the headwind is strong and we…

Clearly, we see

Are not strong enough nor brave enough

To weather the storm alone

This storm, anyway

Sometimes,

They say to “let go and let God”

And yes, it may be best to

Let go of all that we cannot control

With the final goal

To be rid of worry, fear, and fitful tossing…

But HOLD ON!

What of the times where you stand a chance

To gain a foothold, a toe hold, a sliver of hope-hold?

With a glimmer beyond, hold on for dear life

With all that is in you and know

That others reach out to hold on to you

With love, caring, hope, and faith

We hold on to each other because

That is what we are meant to do

And HE holds on to all of us

Who seem to need a reminder of this

Sometimes…





 There's an opportune time to do things,

a right time for everything on the earth...

A right time to search and another to count your losses.

A right time to hold on and another to let go…

Whatever was, is

Whatever will be, is

That’s how it always is with God

  ~ Ecclesiastes 3:10-11 and 15 (from The Message)