Serendipity

Serendipity; The occasion of or an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.

This I believe; there is an all great eternal power, a Creator, and that Creator is in control. I do not fully understand it all and never will in this life - but His markers are plain. He is so in control that when one gives their trust to Him, He rewards them with all sorts of serendipity - for the service of others. Genuine service to others and expressions of unconditional love return a currency rarely redeemable in this life but for a profound joy derived from them AND it is the only currency of the realm of the here-after.  

The other day a friend (Craig) and I were having a passionate conversation about leadership, vision, the nation and gridlock in the affairs of present society. There is nothing new under the sun. I was expressing my growing belief that the form of democratic pluralism in our society had gone to an extreme resulting in;

·         a popular, self-centered and divisive mentality of "every man for himself" and a cynical skepticism of the motives of all others,

·         a dimming of national and regional unity and common vision,

·         a diminishing sense of the virtue of unconditional love and service to others and

·         the marginalization of any sense of belonging to something bigger than our individual selves.

This, I said resulted in an increasingly rootless citizenry with little or no sense of duty and the entitlement mentality we all complain about. I went on to say that I believed this rootless-ness resulted in the unfortunate loss of joy and satisfaction in life that might otherwise be experienced when one commits to something larger and outside of themselves and sinks their roots deep into the soil of it and receives the resource that results from that commitment and the perseverance that is often demanded of any worthwhile greater endeavor.

My commentary was on the greater whole of society and the individuals and institutions that endeavor to cater to its whims, fashions and trends, thereby justifying their own existence and increasing their security and power in the process. Again - there is nothing new under the sun. 

Craig, eyes wide, grabbed my shoulder and said, “You seem to have a real passion for what you say. Have you ever read the poetry of Mary Oliver?” I did not recall that I had. He went on, “There is a poem Mary Oliver wrote that tells of someone sinking their fingers deep into mud. I think it’s titled ‘Wild Rice’. You’ve got to read it.” And he went on to recite a few lines. I quickly wrote down a note to Google® it.

In my office the next day I did. What I came up with was “Wild Geese”. I accounted the Rice/Geese mix-up to my wrong hearing of what Craig had said. I mean really, a poem titled “Wild Rice”? What was I thinking? The poem ministered to me.

Wild Geese ~ Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

No mention of "mud" as I had expected but that poem had a purpose. It wasn’t an hour after reading it that I received an email from another friend going through a lonely and despairing time of uncertainty and sense of losing heart being caught in a threatened and passionless job with no end in sight. That Mary Oliver poem was a perfect prescription for the sentiments I was receiving so I responded with a link to the place where I had found it. I shot another email off to my friend Craig expressing my thanks for the thought along with a little note on how I’d mistaken “Rice” for “Geese”. Craig shot back; “There’s also a Mary Oliver poem titled “Rice”.   

Rice ~ Mary Oliver

It grew in the black mud.

It grew under the tiger's orange paws.

Its stems thicker than candles, and as straight.

Its leaves like the feathers of egrets, but green.

The grains cresting, wanting to burst.

Oh, blood of the tiger.

I don't want you to just sit at the table.

I don't want you just to eat, and be content.

I want you to walk into the fields

Where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.

I want you to stand there, far from the white tablecloth.

I want you to fill your hands with mud, like a blessing.

Oh precious SERENDIPITY!

All the best!

Bill