It was the morning of the final flight of the Space Shuttle Endeavor, and its flight path over southern California was clearly laid out that it would fly right over my home at an altitude of a mere 1500 feet. It was history in the making, and I was privileged to have a front row seat. I turned on the TV to maintain up-to-the-minute coverage while I busied myself with my to-do list for the morning. I mentally sketched out the scheduled flight plan, did some guesstimating as to approximate times when the Endeavor would be where, and determined to re-check the TV to maintain my accuracy and my front row seat. Suddenly the booming roar overhead announced the presence of what my guesstimate had miscalculated. I ran for the front door, frantically undid locks and bolts, three of them to be exact, spun around in my front yard, crazily hoping I could still witness history. I finally looked toward the back of my home, and the cottony white against a perfectly blue morning sky told me -- I had missed history.
What do I miss when I just don’t slow down enough, and pay attention? I learned long ago that becoming a believer is not like being handed a certificate of immunity against the harsh realities of living in our broken world. Quite the contrary. Jesus Himself promised our world would stink, and sometimes putridly. And yet, no matter how broken my world, no matter how confusing it is, or how dark or how empty, there are still petals of roses strewn on my broken pathway, scattered by the loving heart and hands of my Heavenly Father. And He calls to me to “smell the roses,” pay attention, see the good God gives on the days that delight us and see the good God gives even in the midst of the stink. I am a transplant to southern California, and I love to go to the beach. They are days that delight me with the waves that build and crash and recede, sand crabs that scurry, a bucket of unbroken shells designed by my God, pigeons, sea gulls, pelicans, dolphins, and the warmth not just of sunshine, but of the smiles and faces of the little ones I like to bring with me. God’s gifts. Even there, sometimes I can forget to pay attention. Sometimes the sand and the wet will just become another mess to clean up when I get home. Sometimes the antics of children can become more annoying than rich with memories to hold onto.
Some time ago I was closing out three weeks of ocular shingles, three weeks of rearranging schedules to accommodate doctors and medications and a void of energy replaced by endless hours of napping. The do-er in me wasn’t blessed by pain, fevers, chills, and laryngitis. But the broken pathway was strewn with rose petals. Ocular shingles can cause blindness. I was not threatened by blindness. Friends sent their warmth, their love, their concern through cards, phone calls, emails. Some did for me the things I could not do for myself. I never got hungry and neither did my husband, and he wasn’t the one cooking either. Teaching demands preparation, and someone was willing to teach more to give me more preparation time for when life returned to normal. Pay attention. “Smell the roses.” God gives on the days that delight us and God gives even in the midst of the stink. Refuse to get pre-occupied with whatever fills your day. Slow down enough so you can really see all the gifts God is giving. Pay attention. And then, tell Him thank You.
– Bev
(Related Bible reading: Psalm 23:1-6)
