Monday 3/23/20 1:08 AM
I woke in the middle of the night with two words going through my mind, “God meanders.” I immediately thought of meandering streams and rivers wending their way across a landscape.
I live in Los Angeles county. About eighty years ago, as the local population increased, the county undertook a massive flood control project in order to mitigate the seasonal flooding damage that occurred during the rainy season. They built dams and reservoirs in the local mountains and replaced the meandering rivers of the Los Angeles basin with straight, concrete-lined channels designed to get the rainwater and the snow melt from the local mountains to the ocean as quickly as possible. It seems that humans design rivers to move water with utmost speed and efficiency while God prefers that rivers meander, bringing life to surrounding habitats, and to occasionally flood and change course, bringing a fresh look to an otherwise static landscape.
About twenty years ago our family took a camping trip up the Pacific Coast Highway. The road was constructed in the 1930s by grading plateaus, cutting paths through hillsides, using dynamite to blast away mountains, filling valleys with the dislodged rock and soil, bridging gorges, and finally paving it all to make a smooth, though winding road along the sand-filled beaches and through the extremely rough terrain that make up the California coastline. We stopped at coastal campgrounds early in the afternoon, set up camp, and then went for a hike as a family to check out the local area. These sites often included kiosks and signs describing the history of the region and the local flora and fauna. One kiosk described how the cliff upon which I was standing had been an ocean floor millions of years ago, evidenced by a plethora of shells and fossilized sandstone. It reminded me of the long timescales over which God creates his breathtaking landscapes. During the 1994 Northridge earthquake in the Los Angeles area one of the local mountains was lifted six inches, abruptly adding to its height in a minute or so. Since earthquakes of that magnitude occur only once or twice in a lifetime one begins to recognize that God’s timescale for developing the mountainous landscapes that surround the LA basin dwarfs our own human timescale over which we developed our urban landscape of straight, level roads and angular buildings.
I walk for about an hour and a half every morning as a part of my exercise routine. It leaves plenty of time for me to observe the world around me and to contemplate. One thing I have noticed is that houses, sidewalks, light poles, buildings, parking structures, fences, electric wires, and other man-made things are designed with straight lines, flat planes, or perfect curves and smooth surfaces for boundaries, and are generally painted with uniform color. By contrast, trees, leaves, clouds, insects, pocket gophers, mountain ranges, dogs and cats, puddles and rivulets of water, birds, and my own human body are designed with intricately curved and complicated boundaries and are painted with an infinite variety of dazzling, complementary colors.
Los Angeles county is currently under a stay at home order due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Within the last couple of weeks life has changed drastically. Freeways once jammed with cars now flow freely. Classrooms that were crammed with students are now empty and parents are supervising their children’s lessons at home. Shelves at the grocery store, once filled with produce and canned goods, are barren. Bars and restaurants that buzzed with activity and lively social interaction are now closed or visited by patrons getting takeout orders only, while maintaining appropriate social distancing. Employers have shut down their places of business and employees are either working from home or have been temporarily laid off. My meager investments, meant to provide for my needs and wants in retirement, have lost over thirty percent of their value in the last couple of weeks as the stock market plummets in fearful response to the pandemic panic. From my human perspective there has just been an earthquake and a mountain gained six inches in height in a matter of seconds while my manmade world collapses around me. Dynamite has just blasted away a rockface that seemed solid and reliable only a couple of weeks ago leaving nothing but dust and detritus in its place. But what is God’s perspective during this crisis? My straight-lined and smooth-curved boundaries have been shattered and my uniformly painted canvas has been splattered with unwanted colors. But how will God weave my shattered, splattered, and chaotic life into his intricate, complex vision for our future world? I wonder.
The Bible says humankind is the final creation of God. The God who spun galaxies and solar systems over vast periods of time finally made humankind in his image. God creates, so we too create. Of course, humans work on a different timescale with limited knowledge and resources. In Isaiah 55 God tells humanity, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.” Humans like things done quickly and in an orderly fashion but God does things differently. God takes his time when eroding a mountain range or lifting a seabed. He also takes his time as he erodes my heart of stone, one concerned only for myself and the ones I love, and changes it into a heart of flesh, one filled with compassion and equal concern for others, even my enemy. I pray that God will use this pandemic to open my eyes to others around me, to make me more compassionate toward them and empathetic to their plight, especially toward those with whom I disagree. I pray that he will give me a glimpse of my place in his bigger picture, where my broken pieces form a miniscule, but intricately beautiful detail.
The isolation required to combat the spread of this virus goes against the way humans are wired. We are made to have relationships with God and with other people. Being alone and isolated leaves one feeling especially vulnerable, and possibly fearful of the future. Three and a half years ago I met my siblings in Phoenix to visit my mom, for what I thought would be the last time seeing her alive. Her health was failing and I knew I was not going to be able to be with my mom when she died. I was concerned that she would die alone. On my way home I rode my motorcycle under the scorching August sun across the Arizona and California desert, where I saw arid valleys traversed by meandering arroyos and distant mountain ranges oozing alluvial fans into the valleys below. God gave me a song over my four-hour ride across the desert to assure me that he would be with my mom through it all, in spite of my inability to be with her. I sang as I rode.
God lifted the mountains,
He sculpted the valleys,
He filled the oceans,
In his image made me.
On top of the mountains,
Through deepest dark valleys,
In turbulent oceans,
He accompanies me.
He climbs up the mountains,
Meanders through valleys,
He rides the oceans,
Just to be with me.
I need to remember that, while I want life to be a straight, smooth, unencumbered course, God meanders along winding paths. Occasionally he puts obstacles in my way to cause me to change course, a change that will give me new vistas, perspectives, and opportunities. But he doesn’t leave me on my own to travel the path. He goes with me as I overcome the obstacles, as I meander through the valleys, and as I’m tossed about on the turbulent, overwhelming waves in the ocean of life. In the midst of these trying circumstances, when my world is in turmoil, I need to recall the words of Zephaniah 3:17, “The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.”
