The Treasures of the Snow

“Have you entered into the treasures of the snow? Or have you seen the treasures of the hail” (Job 38:22)? Living three millennia ago in an arid region of Mesopotamia, snow would have been a rare delight to Job. But there is a special treasure locked up in every snow crystal that Job could not have imagined. Since the invention of modern methods of magnification, it has come to light that as complex snow crystals form, they branch out in amazing patterns of diversity that gives each one a uniqueness that makes it different from all others.

In a high school science class, I was taught that no two snow crystals are exactly alike. My skeptical adolescent mind thought: “how could they know without examining every snow flake that has ever fallen?”

According to Kenneth G. Libbrecht, who is a physicist at Caltech, “it is unlikely that any two complex snow crystals, out of all those made over the entire history of the planet, have ever looked completely alike.” For more information you can go to his fascinating web site, SnowCrystals.com.

I simply want to take his scientific expertise and give it a theological application. “For it was you who formed my inward parts … I am fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). If snowflakes are so complex in their intricate designs, how much more the formation of a human being? Even in the case of identical twins that come from a division of the same fertilized egg, there are significant differences in personality characteristics and environmental factors, which make them unique individuals. There’s no one that is an exact duplicate of you. As we often say, when God made you he broke the mold.

For me, all this amazing complexity and diversity boils down to this simple affirmation of faith: The value of every human life is so awesome and wonderful it must not be cheapened. Rather, it should be regarded as a sacred gift to be treasured.

Borne on Eagles' Wings

How did the people of the Hebrew Bible survive hundreds of years of enslavement in Egypt and 40 years of wandering in the Arabian Desert? How could they have endured exiles and a holocaust without losing their identity and perishing as a nation? It seems clear to me that throughout their long history from Father Abraham, they have been carried and lifted by a power greater than themselves. In the Hebrew Scriptures we find this inspired explanation: “I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself” (Exodus 19:4).

I’m told that soaring in a glider and piloting a propeller driven aircraft are totally different sensations. When you reach a designated altitude and the cable is released connecting you to the mother plane you are sitting in an eerie silence. There’s no sound of a motor turning a prop pulling you through space. The pilot often feels the need to over control and to make something happen by trying to steer the glider. It takes a while to just sit back and relax and trust the updrafts to carry you as high and as far as they will. Losing altitude might cause some panic even with a seasoned pilot. One needs an instructor in the cockpit to help one trust and wait patiently for the next current to provide the needed lift. Just let go and let God, it will come. We have a sacred promise on which we can rely: “Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles” (Isaiah 40:31).

What happens when it’s time for the eaglets to fly for themselves? They will probably need some poking and some prodding. The nest is so cozy and comfortable. It’s so nice to have your meals flown in without any effort on your part. That’s when the adult eagles begin to “stir up the nest” (Deuteronomy 32:11) nudging them closer to the edge of the cliff. One last push and they are tumbling out into empty space flapping their wings while falling to the earth. That’s when old baldy and his mate fly underneath them, catching them on their wings, and bearing them aloft. On reaching a safe altitude they do a sharp banking maneuver and off they go again tumbling through space. After three or four of these elevator rides they are beginning to get it. It won’t be long and they will be soaring on their own like tiny specks in the sky.

Is that not nature’s metaphor of what God is doing in our lives?

The Magnificent Monarch

Nature is full of surprises! Who could have imagined that a tiny insect, the Monarch butterfly, could migrate a distance of sixteen hundred miles from Canada, along the west side of the Continental Divide, to winter at various locations in Northern California. Several generations have passed along the way, yet the following generations somehow remember the exact location of their destination.

Those Monarchs that fly east of the Rocky Mountains travel as far as three thousand miles to various arrival points in Central Mexico. Research has shown that the magnificent Monarch is even capable of transatlantic migrations. How could such delicate wings carry them such great distances? It’s another of nature’s mysteries.

One year, I found myself at Natural Bridges state beach in Santa Cruz, California around Thanksgiving, when the Monarchs, with their distinctive orange and black colors, arrived on schedule. They clung to the drooping branches of Eucalyptus trees to feed and recover their strength.

What fascinated me the most was the way their overlapping wings, like shingles, could shed the moisture and lock each one into place. When a stray butterfly would approach, they would hold their wings up in unison as though they were saying: “there is room here for you,come, join us.” Then, when the stranger slipped into place, they would lower their wings as one. They had traveled over a thousand miles to form such interlocking clusters that would give birth to the next generation.

A sense of community is all important. We need not cling to life in our own strength. We may have to travel far, but we can find fellowship with others of faith. There is a welcoming community out there that is willing to lift their hearts in acceptance and receive you into the fold.

Breaking Down Barriers

At the Ronald Reagan Library there is an authentic slab from the infamous Berlin Wall. Hundreds of people were shot to death trying to scale that barrier and escape into the freedom of western democracy. Perhaps President Reagan’s most shinning and prophetic moment came in 1988 when, at the Brandenburg Gate, he hurled this challenge into the face of tyranny: “Mr. Gorbachev take down this wall!” At that moment, the president was standing on the right side of history and facilitating the work of God.

The work of Jesus is summarized in this biblical phrase: “he has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility … thus making peace” (Ephesians 3:14-15). We humans have a long history of building walls of hostility. The God revealed in Jesus is forever working to break down barriers and build bridges that span the gap between warring factions, ethnic origins and ideologies.

My wife and I happened to be living in Heidelberg in November of 1989 when the wall finally came down. People were literally dancing in the streets as a delicious whirlwind of euphoria swept over the land so long divided and now united. For the first time in 40 years, German people could flow freely back and forth to embrace family and friends.

For me, this has become a historical paradigm, which illustrates what Christ is doing in our modern world. He is chipping away at those man-made barriers that divide people, churches and nations. The important thing is not that he be on our side but that we are on his.

A View From The Top

What if you stood at the top of the earth near the North Pole? You could be amazed by a vista so different from anything you had ever seen before. From that vantage point, you might see the sun shining at mid-night, appearing to hang beneath a greatly enlarged, partially illuminated moon. At any other position on the planet such a view would not be possible. It illustrates the importance of perspective.

I have a memory trace as a child, playing around my mother’s knees. I looked up as she was embroidering. I remember her saying “pretty.” Looking up at it from the bottom, I saw only knots and threads going off in all directions without apparent rhyme or reason. When she turned it around, so I could see it from the top, a colorful design greeted my eyes. I repeated back to her, “pretty.” It was one of the first words I learned to say after dada, mama, no, and mine.

By faith, I believe, we can rise above circumstances and view them from the top. What was confused and chaotic can now be discerned as having plan and purpose. Our angle of observation is all important.

I am told that in India rugs are hung vertically and woven from the backside. Only the master craftsman can see the pattern developing. He instructs the workmen how to weave. What if they make a mistake and sow the wrong color or stitch? Does he have the mistake pulled out of the pattern? I am told that if he is truly a master craftsman he can leave in the error and direct the workers to weave around it so that the finished beauty of the carpet will be enhanced by the mistake.

This does not give us an excuse to mess up. But it does comfort us to realize that when we make serious errors in judgment and behavior our God is great enough to use them to beautify our lives with his grace and mercy. Let’s try to see this from the top.

TREASURE IN EARTHEN VESSELS

I can’t help believing that if we could only look at others through the eyes of Jesus, we could penetrate the crumbling clay of mortality and catch a glimpse of the immortal spirit hidden therein just waiting to escape. A psychology professor once confessed to me that he was a psycho-ceramic, meaning a crack pot. But then he added, with a twinkle in his eye, there is a lot of light shining through the cracks. The brightest light of our inner beauty shines through the cracks in our humanity. Oh that we had eyes to see it. Those who first discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls hidden in a Palestinian cave, at first, had no idea of the priceless ancient manuscripts contained within the pottery jars.

In like manner we are often blind to the inner beauty which is contained in every life. The following anonymous poem touched my heart with a new awareness of that. It was found in the personal effects of an elderly man who died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska. It was believed that he had nothing left of any value. Later, however, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

Now this little old man, with nothing left to give, has these simple but profound words winging across the Internet and touching the hearts of thousands.

CRABBY OLD MAN

What do you see nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice; 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a sock or a shoe?

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding the long day to fill.
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another.

A young boy of sixteen with wings on his feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at twenty my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide, and a secure happy home.
A man of thirty My young now grown fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee.
Again, we know children my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my wife is now dead.
I look at the future and shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man and nature is cruel.
Tries to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young guy still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years, all too few gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people open and see.
Not a crabby old man; look closer see ME!!

The Therapy of Laughter

There is nothing better for the health of soul and body than a good belly laugh. The ancient proverb has it right: “A merry heart does good like a medicine: but a broken spirit dries the bones” (Proverbs 17:22). When we take ourselves too seriously and fail to see the humor of our situation, our life becomes as dry as dust. Holy hilarity is a lubricant that makes everything work better.

I have only two tools in my box: duck tape and WD-4. If it moves and shouldn’t I tape it; if it doesn’t move and should, I squirt it. Duck tape is like the laws of God. They hold everything together lest they fly apart. Laughter is like a lubricant, it keeps everything running smoothly with less friction.

If I were to take a peek in your medicine cabinet, I might find all sorts of over the counter and prescription drugs. When taken in the right dose and for the right ailment, they can be very therapeutic. When taken in the right dose, the medicine of a merry heart can be a powerful potion.

Sometimes we get all wrapped up around the axel and so close to our struggles; we can no longer see the forest for the trees. We need something to help us unwind; we need a buffer zone to put some space between ourselves and our situation. The great comedians knew that quite well; so many of them came out of tragic childhoods. Many have told us, they turned to comedy to cope with the pain of the past. They found that the exhilarating effect of making people laugh was just what the doctor ordered for their own remedy.

In my view, Jesus was no frowning saint. Children were drawn to him like iron to a magnet. They delighted in his joyful spirit. He often exhorted his followers: “Be of good cheer.” They were so prone to becoming glum and grouchy. He who was “anointed with the oil of gladness” could put a smile on the direst of circumstances. Hopefully just a fraction of his positive personality will rub off on us.