Seeking God's Garden

Hebrews 11:1-3,6
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible … And without faith it is impossible to please God, for whoever would approach him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.

Hebrews 11 is the only definition of faith in the Bible. The first seven verses of this wonderful chapter tell us what faith is, and the rest of the chapter tells us how it works.

Look how faith begins with hope. It begins with a feeling of unease — dissatisfaction with the present situation and a hope for … and assurance of … a better tomorrow. It begins with moving from where we are to a better place. I can see how it would be difficult to have any faith when I am complacent, self-satisfied, comfortable, and at ease. When I am content to just continue doing what I have always done, it is hard to see any faith in that.

I heard a homily a couple nights ago where the minister mused, "God can't steer a parked car." That hit home somewhere inside me. If I am just parked in the Comfort Zone along the side of Salvation Road waiting for Heaven to come, I am not much use to God. I am sure He will love me either way, but it is only when I am stepping out in faith that God can steer me where He needs me to go. It's not God who would be missing out on a better, fuller life. It's me.

Then there is the conviction of things not seen. I wonder why, as an adult, I often have more trouble with this than I did as a little boy. The miracles of life were commonplace as a child. Now I have to struggle to recognize them. Some stubbornly refuse to believe in them at all. How sad.

My mother tells a story, one I only partially remember, of a time when she let me go on a "hike" by myself when I was four years old. My father and older siblings had just finished cutting a serpentine trail down the heavily wooded hill behind our house. I wanted to go on a hike down the new trail, which was fine with my mother as long as I did not go beyond the new campfire ring at the bottom and toward the swamp.

It was early spring. The leaves were just out in that ephemeral light color green that I love so well. I remember having a jacket on and those big black rubber overshoes with metal clasps that probably aren't even made anymore. This was a really big wide-eyed adventure for a four-year-old, even though it was less than 100 yards to travel. There were marvelous discoveries at each of the five turns before I reached the bottom.

But the best of all was beyond where I was supposed to stop and turn around. Outside the limit set by my mom, between the fire ring and the swamp, there was a carpet of dog-tooth violets, bloodroot flowers, May apples, and trilliums – hundreds of gleaming white trilliums, symbols of the Trinity. At that age, all these flowers were up to my chest and right at eye-level as I stooped to smell, touch, and lay down under them. I picked a bunch and ran with giggling glee all the way back up the hill proclaiming, "Look Mom! I found God's garden!"

My mother never mentioned that I went outside her boundaries set for the hike.

I sought a God I could not see, found Him in the beauty of His Creation, and returned to share it. I had no problem understanding that what I saw was made from things that are not visible. I also had no problem with sharing the miracle of the God I knew with those I loved. Natural, effortless faith. Somewhere along the way I lost that innate innocence.

But now, it feels good that my faith is starting to grow again. I am on the move. I am sure God is pleased that I am actively seeking Him, for now He can steer me in directions I could only hope for a couple years ago.

Lord, help me find hope and seek You with all the joy and boundless enthusiasm of a child – even if it's a little outside the limits Mom set for me. Amen.