"The woods were my Ritalin. Nature calmed me, focused me, and yet excited my senses." 
~Richard Louv

In my travels to Ohio this past week, I was present not only to our son's graduation from Ohio Wesleyan University but also to the green rolling hills that shaped me. Driving through small towns and countryside, I was once again reminded of the visceral experience I have when I drive through these hills and valleys. There seems to be something in the landscape that jogs a place of connection within me that is difficult to describe. The one thing I am sure of is that most people have a similar experience in their own 'homeland'. It is a place of groundedness, a place of feeling deeply at home.

On this particular excursion, I decided to return to the church campground where I had spent some formative times as a teenager. Camp Francis Asbury sits in the woods near Rio Grande, in the foothills of what, within a few miles, becomes the Appalachian Mountains. Several years back a fire had ripped through the camp destroying the buildings and it has slowly been being restored to welcome campers again. Driving into the campground, I found myself looking toward a particular shelter house remembering conversations, friendships and songs shared around the fire. On the shore of the lake which seemed much smaller and much muddier than I remembered, I thought of the lazy times we spent on the beach trying to catch the eye of the lifeguard who was also a gifted guitar strumming singer. Church camp was not all Bible stories after all!

The woods and the camp gave shape to my early faith. It was a place where my questions were welcomed. a place where we all felt safe to grapple with the 'big' issues of our time. The leaders listened with care and helped us find our way in the wilderness of being teenagers. All this was done within the sanctuary of trees, trails, green grass and a lake for swimming. The evenings were spent slapping mosquitoes while we sat in a circle around the campfire, singing, laughing, feeling the dirt under our feet and the breeze through our hair. Speaking our deep wonderings about God, our faith, our world into the fresh air brought a different experience than in a classroom or at our places of worship.

As we left the campground I thought of the book Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv which was published a couple of years ago and has now created a movement in which people are finding ways to connect children with the natural world, something that has fallen in short supply. As children spend more and more time in structured, indoor activities they are spending less and less time in the natural world. It seems such a sad thing which, at the same time, comes on the heels of our need for even greater environmental stewardship.  The awe and wonder for Creation that was planted within me and the other campers during those summers in the woods seems to me to be at the very heart of what is needed to create stewards of our planet.

As we left Camp Francis Asbury we stopped the car so I could take a picture of the newly painted sign that will, in a few weeks, welcome campers for the summer. It is my hope that those children and youth will find their questions as welcome as I found mine. It is my hope that the leaders will know that the week spent in the woods may just have the power to create a deep impression on both city and country kids alike. Impressions that may lead them to be filled with a wonder and appreciation for what it means to be a part of something bigger than themselves, Creation. Something that just might bring them to change the world for the greater good of all. With dusty feet and sunburned noses, the fire crackling and lighting up their faces, they will hopefully be reminded of the goodness that lives at their very core, something planted by the One who breathes through it all.

Yesterday morning, heading east toward Wisconsin, we drove into the potential of
the sunrise of the day. It was a stupendous sunrise…..rolling lavender and white
clouds ringed the horizon as the pink sheen of the sun spread across the ever
lightening sky. We were perched on the cusp of a new day, full of conversations
and experiences yet to be revealed.

 Traveling further into the landscape, I was aware of the
potential that surrounded us. Fields had been plowed and some planted with what is to be corn and soybeans of the yet to be discovered summer. If my eyes
caught the rows in just the right light, I could see the hint of green as the
crops emerged from the ground. These seeds, planted and cared for by human
hands, will connect with the power of the sun, the gifts of rain and weather
and, no doubt, a few prayers thrown in for good measure, to provide food for
humans and animals.

 The visual image of the potential of these farm fields
unfolded in mile after mile as we crossed Wisconsin,
Illinois, and Indiana. Someplace along the stretch of
highway in Indiana,
I witnessed a man(father?) and small boy(son?) on their hands and knees in the
plowed soil. A signature yellow and green John Deere tractor sat near by. I saw
the man turn back toward the young boy and say something. I imagined that I was
witnessing the passing on of some important information to a future farmer, one
of those who will continue to feed our nation.

 This road trip that took us into Ohio moved us further toward the experience
of being surrounded by potential. We have taken this drive to be present at the
college graduation of our oldest son. For months now the nagging question on my
lips, in my mind, filling my heart is: “Where have the four years gone?” And
yet here we are, here he is, about to walk into the potential of his future. He
will be joined by young people that were unknown to him only four years ago that
have now become friends for life. He has read, studied and been exposed to
experiences that have prepared him for the next phase of his life’s journey. We
will be privileged to be present for all those young people who will give shape
to the world that is also full of a potential yet unknown to them, to us.

 From the rising of the sun to the flowering of the fields,
to the unfolding lives of the young and the not-so-young, each day is ringed
with potential that calls us to breathe deeply and be filled to overflowing
with gratitude. The newness of each sunrise is imprinted in our DNA and that
rests at the heart of Creation.

 Sometimes we simply call it…….hope.

Yesterday morning I stopped at one of the coffee shops at which I am a regular. Standing in line,I tried to remember the number of properties found on a Monopoly board. 23? 28? 35? 52? The correct answer could buy me 10 cents off my over-priced cup of coffee. I soon became distracted by the two shop workers and the woman in front of me who were looking intently at the dollar bill they all three were holding. They were feeling the texture of the bill, turning it first this way and then the other. One took in her hands and held it to the light. My curiosity getting the best of me, I stepped closer to see what the mystery was. 

Noting that the customer had handed the cashier three one dollar bills, I heard her say: "It says 'this note is legal tender for all debts, public and private' ". I then asked if she had been carrying a counterfeit bill. She turned with a smile to me and simply said, "Look." As I did I saw that the green dollar bill looked exactly like the other two she had handed over. The difference was that instead of the wooden face of our nation's first president, there was the face of a lovely angel, wings, halo and all. Now four people were examining the bill. She tried to remember where she might have received the money, what she had purchased last that would have rendered this one dollar bill as change from a larger denomination. As we stood in our little circle staring down at what was certainly not 'legal tender' in the monetary sense, our faces were shining happiness and warmth toward one another. We all felt a part of something out of the ordinary, special, that had just happened without any effort on our part. 

Taking the angel dollar back and saying she would take it to her bank, she handed over the real money and received her coffee. I stepped up in line and placed my order. But the experience of that encounter changed the course of my day. Because of the surprise of this angel currency, I had encountered a moment of mystery with three strangers. We had laughed, talked, and questioned together. The experience only lasted a few minutes but it put a spring in my step all day and helped me to breathe deeper, more fully.

I cannot know the intention of whomever created the angel dollar bill. Perhaps it was sinister. Perhaps it was meant to trick people into spending money that had no value. But for me, for the four strangers who spoke on a normal Tuesday morning, I believe we had a different experience. We were somehow connected in a way that suspended us from all the things we believe to be fact and concrete. In the simplest form of a dollar bill , something else showed up, something that made us wonder and brought joy and laughter, and made us question the things we take for granted.

Angels are said to be the messengers of God. Their wings allow them to move from place to place with the freedom of flying and with ease of earthly effort. Their halos ring their heads with light to show the path toward what is of heaven. As the angel took her place in the center of George Washington's frame, that presence brought a lightness of being to those of us who gazed at her. A moment of transcendence or of trickery? I don't know. But I am sure that my day would have been different if I had not had this encounter.

"I am going to send an angel in front of you, to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place I have prepared." Exodus 23:20

Suffice it to say, the last several days have been challenging. The world news has been dominated by the horrific oil spill off the Gulf Coast as we have watched untold species of animals threatened, people's livelihoods destroyed, and the fragile ecosystem of which we are all part be harmed in ways that will have a reverberating affect for years to come. The Twin Cities area has been gripped in the horror and sadness of murders and people seeming to have gone mad with violence. And from a national standpoint, once again the people of New York City have been catapulted into the dark hole of fear by a car equipped with explosives in the middle of Times Square.

It is difficult to know how to hold, much less pray for, such overwhelming pain and suffering. And yet, in most churches across the country and our state, that is just what we did yesterday. We looked with confused eyes and open hearts into the community that shapes our faith and then raised our words, and our prayers that could find no words, heavenward. We did this in trust, in faith, and in hope.

After offering these prayers in church, I headed to the annual gathering in Powderhorn Park for the May Day parade and celebration. This yearly event held on the first Sunday of May signifies the coming of summer with a beautiful ritual celebration of the return of the Sun, a 15-20 foot immense puppet carried across the lake by canoes. May Day is the single most elaborate production of In the Heart of the Beat Puppet and Mask Theater, a theater dedicated to creating community and change.

 This year's theme was:"Uproar! A call to be fully present to the uncertainties of these shifting times." Its goal: to stop to inhale the immense beauty of the world we share, to exhale a thunderous Uproar!, an embrace of multitudes joining together with collective strength for the present and future health of the world. This theme was arrived at by a huge number of people coming together for conversation and creativity as they talked about the things that troubled them and those that brought them joy. As all ages are present to one another, listening, sharing, building trust, images begin to appear to the people from which the huge puppets are created for the parade. It is truly an act of collaborative creativity that has the power, not only to trouble complacent thought, but bring such hope. 

That was what happened for me yesterday. Carrying the pain of a sorrowful world, I was reminded what can happen when people come together for great good, to create something bigger than themselves, full of beauty and promise. I was reminded that this is the gift of the seasons, the gift of the way in which the universe works; the coming together of smaller pieces to form a more beautiful whole that has potential no one single part can fully imagine. I was reminded of what happens when the Spirit blows through any given situation bringing a dose of hope to hearts that are heavy. 

As the Tree of Life was raised at the arrival of the Sun from its journey by canoe across the lake, I was heartened by the truth that life always trumps death. As the wind blew through the dancers, musicians and puppeteers connecting them with the goodness that lives at the core of Creation, I felt the prayers that had been spoken earlier take flight making their way to the heart of the Great Healer. Hope was once again reborn.

For images of this fabulous event, please visit  www.hobt.org.