Cure For A Heavy Heart

Out my window a squirrel reclines like John on Jesus’ breast.  A summer night in Joshua Tree I watched meteor after meteor streak across the sky in a Perseid shower.  There are small delights in nature as well as great grandeur and beauty. On the flip side she can be a horror, a “howling wilderness.” As I write this hurricane Melissa has savaged Jamaica and is bearing down on Cuba and the Caribbean. It is in this tension between its enormity, power and beauty that man continues to find perspective and peace.

“There is but one spot on El Capitan’s upper margin where one can lie down and look into the abyss 3,300 feet beneath him. If a man is a little touched with self-conceit, let him seek this position. Then in his humility and thankfulness would he exclaim with good old Job, “What is man that thou shouldst magnify him.” So writes James Mason Hutchings, the father of Yosemite. I had a similar experience hiking solo down the Narrows in Zion national park. As I stood in the river with towers of red rock rising on either side, I felt immense peace and an assurance that God was in control.

Spurgeon, the great preacher struggled with deep depression. He wrote, “He who forgets the humming of the bees among the heather, the cooing of the wood-pigeons in the forest, the song of birds in the woods…needs not wonder if his heart forgets to sing and his soul grows heavy.” I have sensed God in wind whipping down a canyon and grass growing beside a pond.

Cycling up the west coast years ago a friend and I got stuck in a storm. Hail pelted our helmets as we climbed hills overlooking the ocean. In that beauty with nature fiercely hurling herself at us, I felt very much alive. When soul and heart grow heavy there is no cure like hurling ourselves from our creature comforts into an encounter with creation.

Luck Has No Face

Photo by Quinten de Graaf on Unsplash

You can’t bargain with luck or argue with luck. Can’t go eye-to-eye or toe-to-toe with it. I throw on a favorite jersey, short and that comfortable pair of socks. There are a variety of socks I wear cycling and certain ones I wear most of the time.  Part comfort, part tradition. Here’s an embarrassing confession. Some socks feel luckier than others.

I’m rational. Intellectual. There’s no luck. So why, when my wife says, “Don’t get killed out there,” do I think I’m more likely to die today? How is it that a mug, a shirt, pair of socks, a pen go from utilitarian to idol? And idol it is.

“Who even comes close to being like God? To whom or what can you compare him? Some no-god idol? Ridiculous! It’s made in a workshop, cast in bronze, given a thin veneer of gold, and draped with silver filigree…” Giving luck a hat-tip belittles God and dehumanizes me. When I have a good day on the bike it’s because I’ve trained well. The muscle that turns the pedals, the blood carrying oxygen to muscle, the tires that hold air, the driver seeing me…all God.

Luck doesn’t have a face. Or heart.  I give to it a face like a little plastic tchotchke or imbue it with ‘energy’. How silly. We are impacted, and impact, the living. God has a face; bloodied and scarred. Friends and neighbors; faces all. If it feels like bad luck came calling; deal with the circumstances. When ‘good luck’ happens in bolt or streak; identify the reality of the event. Then celebrate with those individuals involved—face-to-face. Through it all give thanks to the God that blesses and makes His face shine upon us.