It was an almost perfect afternoon.  Almost.

We had wandered, the Lovely Lady and I, along the trail, exclaiming about this rock formation and those beautiful wildflowers as we went.  Everything was perfect—the sunny but cool weather, the scenery—even the best hiking companion I could ask for.

It couldn’t have been any better.  And then, we headed up the hill along the rushing creek and the falls came into sight.  It could be better.

Above those falls were more falls, with water tumbling from the higher rocks down into a pool shaped by years of the descending cascade.  We leaned against the boulders and felt the spray hitting our faces.

Perfection.  What beauty!

Later, as we trekked back down the hill, a side path diverged near the creek again and we followed along beside rapids rushing over a huge, barely submerged rock that was forty or fifty feet long.  The sound of the water was enchanting as we stepped down the natural limestone staircase to the water’s edge, sitting down just above the flow to rest. The hypnotic sound of tumbling water and songbirds surrounded us in the woods.

Cares were washed away with the rushing water; troubles nearly forgotten and stresses began fading. It was as if the world had disappeared, and paradise had taken its place.

It almost sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?  Perhaps, it was.

“What’s that awful stench?”

The words grated, ripping away the mirage of paradise, quickly returning us to the world we thought had been left behind. There was a definite odor lurking in the atmosphere around us. It smelled a bit like a sewer, or perhaps, rotten food.

I sat where I was, hoping the euphoria from the previous few moments might return.  It didn’t.  The moment was gone, and my mind had no intention of regaining the peace it had known for that short time.

After a few more minutes, we stood and, climbing the limestone steps, headed on down the trail.  The folks who maintain the nature park had painstakingly installed markers along the way, labeling trees and natural habitat, describing the history of the place, and we took the time to read most of them.  One stood out, as we headed back toward our vehicle and the world of reality beyond this oasis.

“Sulfur water. When the flow of the creek diminishes, one may smell a slight smell like rotten eggs, which comes from the natural spring that also feeds the creek from underneath the limestone and shale formations.”

It was the answer to the question asked as we sat along the water’s edge, lost in the beauty around us.  The intruding stench was merely sulfur in the rushing water, itself a part of the natural environment.

If one explores the online comments about the nature park we were in that day, they will find a number of reviewers who dwell on the odor, as if it were one of the dominant features of the place.

It’s not.

The overwhelming beauty, the marvel of a Creator’s hand, the peaceful oasis mere moments away from one of the fastest-growing urban areas in the United States—those are the dominant features of the place.  The smell is nothing more than an appendix, a single imperfection on the periphery of a stunning object of art.

And yet, it is what many choose to remember—and proclaim publicly—as the major attribute of the entire experience.

Why is that?

Why do we choose to discount the overwhelming beauty of life as we focus and amplify the negative, insignificant as it may be?  We do it with places and things, forgetting the joy of visiting and touching and holding as we recall the times we were disappointed by them.

We do it with the people in our lives, as well.  A lifetime of love and service may be wiped away by one single action they have taken or a word they have spoken, as we follow the sad and timeworn practice of the world, canceling them without an iota of grace or forgiveness.

People, broken and flawed just as we ourselves are, tossed on the burn pile awaiting their just reward.  All because we can’t see past the fault to recognize the beauty and the need.

You know there was a snake in the first garden, don’t you?

The serpent was created by God, too.

Oh, I’m not going to argue any kind of doctrine about the devil here; I have no dogma to impress upon you.  Many before me have already done that.  It’s not my intent to convince you one way or another.

What I do know is that there was a fabulous garden, gifted by the Creator to His creatures, a place for them to explore and exclaim over, and to enjoy forever.  Compared to Eden, the nature park the Lovely Lady and I visited the other day was a desert wasteland.

And yet, the pair in the Garden of Eden focused their full attention on the snake.  All of God’s creation surrounded them, and they listened to the hissing snake blithering on about the one tree that wasn’t theirs to partake of.

We know how that story turned out, don’t we?

There are still snakes, and stenches, and steep climbs, and wide ravines here. We can focus on them if we want.

We can.

But look around at the glorious world He has given us to walk through!  And the lovely humans He has given us for companions along the road!

The Teacher said the words, not to draw our attention to the negative, but to lift our eyes to the joy and the spectacular opportunities He puts before us:

In this world you will have troubles.  But be full of joy and great gladness!  I have overcome the world!  (John 16:33 ~ my paraphrase)

We travel this foreign land beset with sorrows, but not overwhelmed by them. We are battered by fears, but they have no power to knock us to the ground.

Our Creator gives us songs in the darkest night.  He provides light for the path ahead and good company to cheer the heart.

Our old friend, the Apostle, reminds us to keep things in perspective as he draws a word picture of a scale, each side of the balance beam bearing a bowl filled with items. One side is incredibly light, the other overwhelmingly heavy.

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory… (2 Corinthians 4:17 ~ NKJV)

Not that we ignore the suffering of those around us—not that we bottle up the feelings and reactions we ourselves have when those sufferings visit us.  We are to bear each other’s burdens, to weep with those who weep.  But we don’t let the things that trouble us control who we are and how we live.

Strength, and peace, and joy are ours.  For life.  While we are in this world.

He’s given us incredible blessings—unbelievable beauty—as we travel His way. Those are what He intends us to be attentive to.

I do have to wonder, though.  His Word tells us of a river that runs through that new garden He’s preparing for us.  Will there be sulfur water flowing into it, as well?

If there is, who would notice it anyway?

 

There are far, far better things that lie ahead than any we leave behind. (C.S. Lewis)

 

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.  (Philippians 4:8 ~ NLT)