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I miss Eden.
No, I didn’t waltz in the garden with history’s original dance partners. All I’ve ever known since making my stage entrance into this world almost 42 years ago is a set filled with despair and the ugliness of sin. Despite some brief snippets of clarity, it’s been a through-the-glass-darkly type of existence, realizing the shadow that sin has cast over the entire universe, shrouding this swirling planet in waves of ugliness.
And that’s why those unplanned, unexpected moments of beauty give a glimpse of the original paradise and remind me that our God is a God of absolute loveliness. That’s what happened last week Saturday.
In the midst of a marathon writing and editing and proofreading session in a somewhat desperate attempt to completely finish a manuscript, I paused and exited the friendly confines of my classroom to go for a run. I walked over to the high school track and began circling it like Steve Prefontaine, albeit with much more plodding, much less bouncing tresses, and much more lung-screaming agony. The quietness of the stadium contrasted to the roar of the night before in which Senior Night made the football festivities a bit more poignant. As happens at most similar occasions, seniors are honored, parents introduced, ovations given and flowers exchanged. Most evidence of the previous night’s hubbub had disappeared, thanks to a stellar custodial staff and dedicated volunteers (in addition to a large population believing that cleanliness is indeed next to Godliness).
As I circled the track and ran past the home team’s bench, I noticed one item still firmly planted on the infield from the night before. A bucket filled with water and 5 or 6 long-stemmed red roses sat untouched by the edge of the synthetic rubber oval. A rose’s beauty, long celebrated in verse and oil pastels, never fails to inspire. In the midst of huffing and puffing, the sight of a rose stirred the muse inside and brought a smile to my face. After hours of strained effort to marry words on the page like they were meant to be wed, this snatch of beauty was a subtle but striking reminder to me of the beauty that God intended on this earth as well as a quick glimpse of Eden. (Granted, had I been moving at anything more than a glacial pace around the track, the glance could be described as “fleeting.” As it was, with the sloth-like, oozing way I chugged, beauty’s sighting was more of the long, lingering gaze type of discovery.)
The roses’ appearance made the writer in me wonder about the reason for their presence. Did a few parents not show up the night before? Did the person responsible for ordering the roses miscalculate the number of seniors being celebrated? Did someone assume that someone else would dispose of the rose? Did a tender custodian with an eye for beauty simply leave it be?
Or, did a loving heavenly Father simply know that at that exact moment in time, I needed a display of beauty to fuel the next stage of my journey.
I think I’ll choose Door #5.