A personal essay by Savannah Rex
“It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul.” – Alma 32: 28
The forest is dense with strength and grandeur.
I am a child compared to the faithful giants towering over me, their crisp green leaves playing with the sunlight streaming from above. I kneel down in the hidden glade and dig my fingers into the rich soil. I tuck the unknown seed into its new bed, covering it with a blanket of earth and hope.
I hope that my seed will grow to be as formidable and as gentle as its neighbors. I hope that my seed can withstand the summer droughts and the cold winters. I hope that my seed can one day provide shade for a weary traveler. I hope that my seed will be a good seed.
Opposition in All Things
A boiling storm surges throughout the house. Dog, cat, and brothers hide from the overwhelming anxiety and frustration of my older sister. Her anger is a summer storm ripping up roots and pulling off branches. But like a ray of light slicing through the black, ominous clouds, I am able to calm her down, and she is once again the sweet Mckenzie we all love and cherish.
Mckenzie’s autism is only one small way to describe my lively, loving sister. Mckenzie makes friends with anyone she meets and will remember your name and voice forever. She loves to go on walks and drives, enjoys eating baked beans and homemade chocolate chip cookies, and even can play the piano, despite her blindness since birth. She is incredible and has endured so much.
The open window welcomes in warm bands of spring sunlight that drift through the room, landing softly on Mckenzie’s bed. Mckenzie has her head on my shoulder as we enjoy a Saturday afternoon together as sisters. Josh Turner’s deep, country voice hums out from the radio and everything seems right.
But the room seems to glow a little brighter when Mckenzie suddenly, but softly says, “Jesus loves me, doesn’t He?”
I squeeze my sister tighter and say, “Of course He does.”
Mckenzie then replies, “I can’t wait to be with you and Him someday. I love you, Savannah.”
While reflecting on my experiences with my older sister, I cannot help but agree with the Count’s guidance in Alexandre Dumas’ novel The Count of Monte Cristo: “There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”
Yes, her storms are challenging. Yes, forests bend and tremble in the wind. But when the storm breaks and the clouds roll by, my sweet sister stands in the center of the forest. Her arms are outstretched. Her eyes are continuously fixed on the light and the healing, restorative power of the Sun.
Enlarge My Soul
The obnoxious beep sounds again, signaling the failure of my flimsy debit card. A milk jug, a box of brownie mix, and a tall bottle of vegetable oil wait impatiently in a neon yellow bag, lying on the conveyor belt. A desperate sigh escapes my lips, and I mumble a quick apology to the cashier for causing so much trouble with my card, my life’s arch enemy now. I am too scared to face the long line of waiting shoppers, fearing their annoyed, disappointed looks, so I quickly walk out empty-handed without glancing back.
I unlock my small car, sit down, and stare out through the window. Anxious thoughts buzz around my head like bothersome flies. How will I fulfill my promise of brownies for the Anchor Club bake sale now? Why did I waste 15 minutes of my life in that store when I have a mountain of homework waiting for me back at home? A small knock on my window quickly shatters my jumbled thoughts of frustration.
I look up to see a man holding my plastic bag of groceries, standing outside my door. I promptly roll down the window. He gently hands me the plastic bag. I stammer a quiet thank you. He walks back into the store. I drive out of the parking lot.
A quick pause of shocked silence gives way to shaking sobs.
I cry to God. I cry because of this man’s humble generosity. I cry because I do not know his name. I cry because I can’t even remember his face or the clothes he wore. I cry because I cannot give him a hug of gratitude. I cry because he will never know how much this small act of service means to me. I cry because God is mindful of me. I cry because God is mindful of him.
I cry because even when I did not turn to God, He turned to me.
I think about him often and how our lives are now connected by a golden thread woven together in a Dollar General parking lot. I will continue to spin my own tapestry, uniting myself to others through Christ-like service. I hope it will emulate God’s magnificent tapestry of mindfulness, compassion, and love.
And one day, I will follow the thread to the end of the line and finally give a grateful hug to my grocery rescuer.
Enlighten My Understanding
“It does no harm to the romance of the sunset to know a little about it.” – Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space by Carl Sagan
The dock softly rocks back and forth, moving to the rhythm of the gentle waves and the roaring crickets. From my perspective laying down on the wooden lake dock, the universe unfolds before me. Stars without number dot the black canopy above, some so far away that they blink in and out of focus.
It’s ironic how I feel humongous and minuscule at the same time. It’s a dance between the gratitude I feel at being able to be a part of this great world and the pure wonder I feel at realizing I am a tiny speck on a small planet, an impossible leap away from the nearest star.
In the presence of these tiny giants, my mind naturally drifts to the questions of the universe. I am mad at religion for being so vague and science so sure. I long to know everything now. It is scary to search science for the answers to the questions of the universe because what if I find an unavoidable inconsistency with religion? It took me many years after this embrace with the night sky to obtain the peace and answers I desperately wanted.
I found what I was searching for not in an evolution textbook or a book of holy scripture but in a painting shown in my college biology class. Yongsung Kim’s beautiful painting titled Calm and Stars pierced my soul and enlightened my understanding of the union of science and religion.
While running, feet pounding up the hills one by one, I silently beg to feel peace, comfort, anything that would console my weary heart. I end my cry for help and keep jogging down the road.
As I turn down another street, I stop suddenly from surprise at the scene in front of me.
The sky is on fire.
One of the most majestic sunsets I have ever witnessed purges me of all anxiety and weariness. Like the hopeful sunset in Michael Punke’s The Revenant, “Stark daytime hues blended and blurred, softened by a gentle wash of ever-darkening purples and blues.”
Did you know that breathtaking sunsets are caused by sunlight passing through more air since it is hanging low on the edge of the horizon? More atmosphere leads to more creative molecules that expertly scatter the brilliant violet and blue light away from your eyes. This is what creates the soft yellow, orange, and red shades of sunsets.
Knowing a little bit more about a sunset does not take away the fact that a prayer was answered through the wonders of nature. That wonderful blend of color in the sky painted a masterpiece of hope, peace, and joy on my heart’s canvas.
Maybe God didn’t magically put that sunset there by himself. Maybe it was just luck that the atmosphere was feeling extra artistic that day. But maybe God is still creating a world through natural laws and evolution, and maybe that world allows us to occasionally feel a touch of heaven.
Image Credits: "Organic Seeds" by Thiago Locks is licensed under CC by 2.0. "Calm and Stars" by Yongsung Kim.
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