Hope in Bloom

Watching a movie tonight, a scene stuck in my mind. You know those scenes. Ones that strike a chord, setting off a chain-reaction of thoughts that leave you with a cinematic "lost time" experience. A couple is on a date, drinking Red-Stripe over Jamaican food. "What holds you toghether?" he asks. She shrugs. After a long pause, he jumps in, "For me, it's the law, politics the Sixers, and good food."

I sat wondering. Is that enough to hold a person toghether? Is that what holds me together? I liked the answer, quick, broad, cool. My own list, wanting to avoid going too deep, is: family, friends, the outdoors, and Jayhawk basketball.

But that's not it. The list is missing a lynchpin. What holds me together is faith. Faith in God, in Christ. That in the face of things that feel like they'll crush me, something larger will supply what's needed.

I wonder why it's so hard to say that. In the movie, they're on a third or fourth date. They've worked together, they're familiar with one another. There's nothing to lose in naming the biggest piece of duct tape holding each of them together.

Even without my own volunteering that key piece, even in safe circumstances, what holds me together has taken root, has begun to grow, to bloom, to come alive and bear fruit. Despite Philosphy professors who "proved" God couldn't exist. In the face of a strangling political correctness that encourages celebration of every culture and faith...except our own. In times when we're exhorted to respect other's beliefs, but not to stand by our own.

One of my greatest fears is that something has gone unalterably wrong with the world, that what holds us together doesn't. Peggy Noonan described a collective sense of the wheels coming off. Many of us feel it, but can't put our fingers on why...or what to do about it.

When the news covers the latest U.N. non-dealing with genocide (because they're busy skimming Oil-for-Food funds), or protest-of-the-week opposing any real action against evil; it feels like the train has jumped the tracks, and is hurtling off the trestle.

But has it? Reflecting on my own times of doubt, it remains true that somehow within, a seed of faith remained, germinated, and took root. Surely I'm not alone. Anyone looking my way on the street would assume I'm part of the train going off the tracks. What outward sign would tell them otherwise?

My worry is borne of an assumption that I'm alone. If that seed can grow in me, isn't it myopic to imagine that it isn't taking root in others as well? Silently. Slowly. Unstoppably.

We recently ended 142 days without a drop of rain in Phoenix. 142 days that left even this desert inches below average rainfall. Springs here can be beautiful, the wildflowers creating a carpet of yellow, orange and red. This year, the soil has been parched, dusty, and barren. It was looking impossible for our annual burst of color. Last Saturday the clouds crept in and burst, pouring inches of rain. It even snowed, painting the mountains at the fringes of the city white.

This Saturday, my two-year old son and I hiked our trail in the mountain preserve near our house. Meandering along, Will stopped to pick up rocks. Taking a knee to get eye-level with my explorer's find, I was surprised by thousands of green dots. Each the size of an ant, they sprinkled the rocky trailside. After 142 days without a drop of rain, this years' wildflowers have started their bloom - having received what they needed from above.

Stop, stoop, look. There is hope in bloom. It will hold us together.