I have often marveled at how both gold and blue can exist in the same sky. Anytime I have attempted to replicate this mystery with watercolors, my blues mix with the gold and annoying green invades the space.

I feel like I need lines to keep the hues apart. No green invading, merely the gold transitioning into blue. I’m not sure how God keeps the colors from mixing in the evening sky, probably there’s a scientific explanation … but could it simply be — he needed no lines, no limits for his work. He can do whatever he likes. He isn’t limited like I am attempting to prevent green when blue touches gold. And I wonder, is his work in my life like this too?

I struggle to replicate (poorly) what he produces with ease. I seek lines and boundaries for influences that would bring an undesired result into my life. He is able to achieve perfection with those undesired influences and it appears, without the struggle. There are no boundaries for him.

Perhaps then I am to watch, and be a part of his perfection and not attempt to copy it. I struggle to control, perhaps I should just reflect. Perhaps the issue is the materials I’m using, perhaps he’s just God and I am not.

“God works in His time” the priest declared, yet I will add to his declaration –

“God works outside of time.”

Our clocks and expectations mean little or nothing to him.

God is not constrained by time or our expectations.

The truth is – our prayers and pleadings are for us.

They whittle at our stubborn hearts, breaking down our obstinate wills into small, dust like particles, so that eventually there is nothing left to desire, but only what God desires. And although his desires are often “best” they are often the most painful things to accept.

Although the assertion “God works in his time” may bring us a measure of comfort, it is a small consolation.

The real comfort comes in embracing the truth – “God works.”

… from the Cloud of Unknowing

God, the Master of time never gives the future.
He only gives the present, moment by moment.
For this is the law of the created order
and God will not contradict himself in His creation.
Time is for man, not man for time.

Today’s lectionary reading from the beginning of the Gospel of St. Mark – the Baptism of Christ – has reminded me of a moment I had while visiting the Sienna Prayer Center in Ventura, California. It was a Holy Week retreat and I spent hours in the covenant gardens observing all types of birds and other small wild-life.

Stretched out on a lawn, I had occasion to leisurely watch a beautiful dove. Her efforts were awkward as she began the task of lifting her resting body from atop a nearby tree. She labored successfully under great efforts to a spot which seemed to be right overhead. With nothing to perch upon I wondered why she headed upward.

As she reached her destination there was a brief moment at which she became weightless. Her wings were fully stretched, a magnificently symmetrical wingspan. Her strong tail feathers fanned out wide, she was completely relaxed as she hung effortlessly for a moment in the air. Her gaze shifted to another tree, and with a slight but deliberate movement of her head she let her body hurl and fall freely to someplace hidden deep with another tree.

If Christ had been this bird’s destination – the Holy Spirit descending upon Him as a dove – at His baptism, it would have been quite a dramatic and shocking scene. Not the ethereal, lukewarm images of rays of light and brightness. No, it would have appeared more like a great force of intentional movement from heaven toward a man emerging from under the water.

This vision has awakened in me a curiosity of other word-images in Scripture. Might THIS vision of a dove’s movement tell a different story about my Lord’s baptism? And might this different story produce a more mysterious understanding of the active agent of the Trinity in my life?

As my flight began its final approach into John Wayne Airport, the financial concerns that eluded me while visiting family began to creep back into my thoughts. I was determined not to let anxiety ruin the four short days I had just enjoyed on the Bayou Teche with my godparents. The calm cadence of their lives, the warmth of their southern hospitality and the abundance of their resources had left an impression on my quick paced, hurried heart. They didn’t seem to have much money, but they certainly were rich in a way unfamiliar to me.

They have 20 or so chickens that give them fresh eggs each morning. They tend two large gardens that provide them more than their “5 essential servings of fruits and vegetables per day”. They drove me through fields and fields of healthy hay crops that yield them hundreds of bales every year; and the grand finale, a visit to the “other women” in my godfather’s life, his 30 head of cattle. He checks on them daily to repair fences, fill up water barrels and occasionally moving them to greener pastures – literally.

All through our travels he waved to neighbors and introduced me to long-time friends. Saturday I was treated to a delightful Cajun supper with many of these folk down at the bayou’s edge. We laughed all night, entertained by the stories of his war buddies and dancing a bit to the zydeco music blaring from an old radio with a wire coat-hanger antenna.

Each day my godparents got up early, finishing their chores in the cool of the morning. When I awoke the coffee was waiting for me and so were they, sitting in tandem rocking chairs in the front room. Neither one in hurry, they chatted about a sick neighbor or the new garden around the church grounds. Gentle, kind words shared. Their home is humble, yet sufficient. I was treated to a walking tour of the walls; covered with framed memories of family milestones, veteran reunions, and retirement parties.

I saw the exchange of money only once during my visit, at a roadside café. A special delicacy,  something they didn’t have at home; fried alligator. Aside from that lunch, everything we did or ate came from their abundance of resources. I understood they didn’t have a lot of money and I also understood they were very content. Two things that are mutually exclusive in the hurried chaos of southern California where money equals happiness.

Now, I don’t think that the secret to finding happiness is building a chicken coup or growing your own vegetables. No, I think the answer is deeper – inside. My godparents are content not because they are rich in money, but they are rich in perspective. They have what they need, they enjoy and care for those in their life and they know that the key to happiness is tied to something more important than money.

A change in perspective – is it that simple? Perhaps it is.