The Little Things

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things"

Some of you may recognize the lyrics. From one of the most beloved musicals of all time, "The Sound of Music," this song epitomizes finding the good things in life. As the nun in training, Maria, tries to the soothe the children during a thunderstorm, the words ring out to tense ears. "Finally, beloved, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you." (Philippians 4:8,9) Think about these things.

Christine and I have just returned from a holiday to the great Pacific Northwest. Spending time in Seattle and surrounding areas was an amazing experience. The grandeur of the crushing oceans, the grace of the orca whales, the magnificence of the volcanic mountains overloaded my senses to the point of glorious meltdown. If only it was possible to describe majesty.

Life, without reflection, feels somewhat meaningless, as if the very moments that pass in front of our eyes are simply stimuli to force us to breathe in and out. Reflection is the very essence of the human mind - you've heard it before "I think, therefore, I am." Think about these things, Paul says, in his epistle to the church in Philippi. I began to think about my vacation from the perspective of that which was pure and pleasing and commendable. Full of praise, I marvel at the very magnificence of the creation of God.

Two of our friends, Ben and Kendra (which, at times we have shortened their names to Bendra much to their chagrin, I think) drove us into the Cascade mountains for a hike. The vistas surrounding the drive were gorgeous. We bounded through forests, drove past lakes and watched the clouds separate the sky into fluffy quadrants. We passed one of the spectacular falls, Snoqualmie, to journey farther on. Nearer to our destination, Twin Falls, we once again gazed on the guardian of Seattle - Mt. Ranier. What makes Mt. Ranier so spectacular is it's singularity. As part of the ring of fire, the line of volcanoes that dot the NW coast of the U.S. like (excuse my vulgarity) pimples, Mt. Ranier stands like a silent, white headed sentinel. From miles away I could see the immensity of this rock. I'm absolutely positive that I was not the first one to glimpse Ranier, but when looking at the volcano, I felt as if I was the only one at that time.

We turned onto a gravel road, the tires and shocks making a rasping sound, as if the road wanted us to turn back. We wound our way to the trailhead and after visiting the local unloading place, the outhouse, we ventured towards the river to the falls beyond. Sometimes the knowing one's destination takes such overwhelming precedence that the path to get there becomes ignored. In my pressure to reach the beauty of the falls, I failed to notice many of the delicacies of creation. I will not, at this point, journey into the pithy and overused 'stop and smell the roses' writing, but to some extent I missed out on quite a bit of the hike simply because my eyes were hungry for the impressive. At some points it seemed as if we were running, stumbling, to the goal. We didn't have a lot of time so Bendra and we were hurrying towards the falls. In one interlude, a rest, we happened upon a wooden bench that gave us our first glimpse of the lower falls. At this altitude we could hear the roar of the beating water and it was mesmerizing to watch the mist float up and through the trees.

Stopping only to catch our breaths, we pressed on. Soon the roar was deafening and all talk stopped. The only communication was between creation and our senses. Then, suddenly, we were there. A bridge spanned the falls and we walked over to watch the water course through rocks and plunge fifty feet below. The rising mist cooled our bodies; the sun warmed them again instantly. It was all spectacular. These large falls were impressive - impressed upon my mind was the image of a never ending spectacle. The water had been falling for centuries, I would guess, and hopefully will be falling for centuries more. How long had those rocks been stranded on the precipice of the falls? How long had it taken for the stones at the bottom pool to be smoothed? How many days of sunshine had bathed this particular place?

As I continued to gaze across the dizzying falls, a flicker of movement scurried across my vision. A chickadee, or some other small bird (I confess that I am not an ornithologist) had alit on the branch of a nearby tree. Its little feet grasped a small branch avoiding the sharpened pine needles. And then it hit me: I had seen thousands of birds like this; I had spied thousands of pine trees; I have seen blue skies in my life - but how often do I notice the very details of creation that give it its spice? How often do I notice the little things?

Humans are notorious for wanting the biggest things. Commonly it's a status symbol. Christine and I often laugh about how everything is big in America. We've got big animals.. We've got big rivers. We've got big buildings. When we build houses, we don't build them for the amount of people that are going to live in them, we build them big enough to house how many people we can think about. There are more world records for being big than small. Just in case you wanted to know, the world's largest ball of popcorn is in Sac City, Iowa. It weighs 2,225 pounds.

12,000 people came to look at it in one state fair.

In 2006, the Clinton Station Diner in New Jersey created the world's larges hamburger. It was twenty-eight feet across and eleven inches thick. It weighed 105 pounds.

I could delve into the largest of everything, but it goes without saying that we have a fascination with big. But what I would like to suggest is, how would it be if we were fascinated with the medium to small. In the midst of a flock of eagles (if that is what it is called), does one ever notice the crow? In the midst of the redwood forests (need I even state that these are the world's tallest trees?) does anyone notice the little pine trees shooting up only a mere 100 feet? I am not suggesting that big is bad, but smaller is important also and as I stood and looked at the chickadee on its perch I began to notice the little things. We walked down to the pool, and as we stood in the water, I noticed small, brightly colored pebbles reflecting in the sun. As we walked back to the car, raspberries began to stand out against the canvas of green ferns. Moss on the trees offered a great amount of fascination. I began to walk much more slowly. I began to breathe a little deeper. I began to find the different scents of the woods - not just the big ones from the pine trees but the smaller ones like the smell of the mist and the moss. It was not so overwhelming.

As I have returned home, I am taking more notice of the medium and smaller things in life. I am walking slower even tthough life is going faster. I notice that Josephine has freckles on her nose now. I notice that Elsa's eyes are more of a golden color in the summer. I notice that Greta, my almost five year old, is stronger than I am. I noticed that there are more scratches on my car than I ever noticed before. And, I noticed that Christine is becoming more lovely by the day. (For those who don't want gush, I'm sorry, but it's our anniversary in two weeks and I'm trying to get in good.)

So, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence whether big, small or medium, think on these things and in the midst of your walk, slow down and the God of peace will be with you.