Surrounded By Life, Love, And The Presence Of God

by Eric Elkin

“Pushed to the wall, I called to God;
from the wide open spaces, he answered.”

— Psalm 118:5 (The Message)

Yesterday, the sun chased the clouds away. The cloudless sky gave the sun complete freedom to works its magic on the surface of the earth. People sheltered in fear took to the streets to enjoy the day. I sat on the deck and conducted one meeting after another. It was wonderful. The warmth of the sun’s rays filled the air with the smell of spring

Spring smells like fresh rainfall. Although, to be honest, winter rain smells differently than spring rain. So, maybe, rain is not the best example. Words escape me as I try to think of a way to describe the smell of spring. I know you understand what I am talking about. How would you describe the smell of spring?

Not every time can you smell it indoors. Sometimes, though, it is so overwhelming you can. But to really enjoy it, you need to be outside. I like to think the nose cannot pick up the odor without the sound of a robin singing in a nearby tree. I’m not sure how the brain works, but I do think we are genetically programmed to register the smell of spring.

When you smell it, you know winter is over. Cold air and snowflakes will fall again, but they will be fighting a losing battle. The frost coming out of the ground even has a smell. It smells of damp soil begging to be planted. Every breeze catches the odor of a tiny bud, desperately seeking to become a leaf. I don’t really know how to describe it, but yesterday, I smelled it.

We spent the morning working inside. By afternoon, we had moved out onto the porch. In the middle of a Zoom staff meeting, three hawks screeched overhead. They were chasing songbirds, or as they like to call it, lunch. The longer we dwelled on the deck, the more our desire to explore consumed us. So at 4 o’clock, we loaded up the dog and headed to Afton State Park.

“Spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm.”

— John Muir

When we arrived at the park, I realized we were not the only ones being drawn outside by the smell of spring. The parking lot was full. Families, couples, friends were all outside enjoying spring in a time of a pandemic. The atmosphere of the place was calm, peaceful, and joyful.

The vibe in the park was different than the tension found in the grocery store. Going to buy basic necessities these days is quite the experience. So many people are simultaneously fearful of being close to anyone, but also so self-absorbed on their task they can be rude. Clerks in the grocery store try desperately to be cheerful, but their joy is shaky.

My fear is less about people than it is about surfaces. I find myself wondering who last touched this door handle, countertop, or window. At home, I am fine, it is when I venture out into a store that I feel the walls being pushed in. This is not the way I want to live. This is not a way we were designed to live but is necessary for now.

The more I moved out into the wide-open spaces, the more it filled my soul with hope. Perhaps this is why this one sentence caught my attention this morning. Verse 5 in Psalm 118 was not even part of today’s lectionary reading, but I had to write about it.

It is not difficult to find ourselves in isolation. We don’t need a governor’s order or the threat of a pandemic to put us in this place. This kind of separation is not about the presence of others, but of a mind consumed only with ourselves. The walls push in on this type of condition. We call out but do not know where to find help. The answers come in the wide-open spaces. There, God speaks to us through creation, reminding us we are not alone.

Yesterday, a young family with three small children sat on a blanket in the middle of prairie grass. They were dining on a snack and enjoying the smell and warmth of spring. The children danced around in carefree delight. In the wide-open spaces, they were surrounded by love, life, and all the gift we take for granted, the presence of God.

Click to read Psalm 118: 19-29