Category: 2003

Feeling Truly Connected

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20031 Comment

Dear Will:

Today my kids and I took a hike up into the hills that give Cannon Street its character. If you’ve never been up there, it makes for a nice little hike. The terrain is only occasionally precarious, and you’re pretty much guaranteed to have the entire place to yourself. If you’re looking for benches to rest on and signs explaining the flora and fauna, forget it. But if you just want a chance to get away from the city in the midst of the city, you could do a lot worse.

What I especially like about this particular location (aside from the fact that I can walk there from my house) is that it allows you to perch above the city (above the county on a clear day) and get an almost bird’s-eye view of the place. From a single spot we could see the entire reservoir (isn’t it great to see it full of water again?), the new Grijalva Park over off of Prospect, the rows of homes along Rockinghorse Ridge, and just about any other landmark we had wished to see. We picked out the Christensens’ house over on Snowbird, the place on Country Hollow where the Novaks will be moving in next week, the schools, the playgrounds, the grocery stores. With just a little less haze we’d have had a clear view of Edison Field and, with a little imagination, the Matterhorn over at Mickey’s place.

(A few years ago, I took Bryn—then 5 or 6—up the same hill to watch the fireworks on July 4. Ostensibly we were there to see the annual event at Fred Kelly Stadium, but what we got was truly unexpected: From that spot on the hill, we watched five different shows simultaneously, including the big blow-out at Disneyland, the one at Edison Field, and a couple of smaller shows around the Southland. Very cool.)

Besides the view, today we enjoyed some favorite sights and smells: sage, rosemary, anise, all sprinkled amidst the cactus and mustard flowers there on the hilltop. We saw volcanic rock, the footprints of coyotes, and one truly remarkable phenomenon: almost no evidence of litter or graffiti. Seth, my four-year-old who often goes hiking with his mother Dana at Santiago Oaks a couple of miles east of where we stood, kept remarking: “This is the best hike ever!”

What made it special for Seth, I believe, is that he was out and about with his big brother and sister doing what he usually only gets to do when they are in school. Today, for a change, they were hanging out with him, and as an added bonus (I like to think) Dad was there too. It would have been the whole family had Dana not been feeling ill. At any rate, Seth spoke for all of us when he gushed enthusiastically about our little adventure. We were feeling truly connected—to family, to nature, to our community—and enjoying immensely the chance to see it all—both literally and figuratively—more clearly. The perspective was both enlightening and energizing.

So do yourself a favor. One of these days soon, climb up to the top of that hill and have a look around. I think you’ll be glad you did.

PW

They Will Remain Within His Care

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2003Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Try as I might, I can’t seem to think about much else but war these days. It leaves me sad and troubled, especially as I allow myself to imagine the worst of where all this could lead. I am by nature an optimistic guy, but I confess that my disposition is being tested.

I catch myself looking at my kids a lot as I seek unsuccessfully to quell my inner turmoil. My oldest son is 12, too young to be threatened by all this, but still—I can’t help but wonder, What if . . . ? I see teary parents on the news who have lost a son already in this conflict, and when I put myself in their place, I feel the tears start to come.

I am reminded of the words of a favorite hymn, never more appropriate than now:

Where can I turn for peace? Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart, searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows, where when I languish,
Where, in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand? He, only One.

He answers privately, reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.
Gentle the peace He finds for my beseeching.
Constant He is and kind, love without end.

                                                –Emma Lou Thayne

As I transcribe these words it occurs to me that I may have shared them before. But no matter. They give me some comfort, and so I share them without reservation. More than anything I hope that you remember that in troubled times our faith in God transcends our earthly struggles. Although in times of war I may look upon my children with some sadness, I also do so with some measure of reassur­ance, knowing that ultimately they will remain within His care. I pray that our soldiers may feel that as well.

PW

The Parable of the Unwise Bee

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2003Leave a comment

Dear Will:

OK, I admit it: I’m about to plagiarize with impunity—although I guess it’s not really plagiarism when you give the original writer credit. In any case, I came across this tale recently and felt prompted to share:

The Parable of the Unwise Bee by James E. Talmage

Sometimes I find myself under obligations of work requiring quiet and seclusion such as neither my comfortable office nor the cozy study at home insures. My favorite retreat is an upper room in the tower of a large building, well removed from the noise and confusion of the city streets. The room is somewhat difficult of access and relatively secure against human intrusion. Therein I have spent many peaceful and busy hours with books and pen.

I am not always without visitors, however, especially in summertime; for when I sit with windows open, flying insects occasionally find entrance and share the place with me. These self-invited guests are not unwelcome. Many a time I have laid down the pen and, forgetful of my theme, have watched with interest the activities of these winged visitants, with an afterthought that the time so spent had not been wasted, for is it not true that even a butterfly, a beetle, or a bee may be a bearer of lessons to the receptive student?

A wild bee from the neighboring hills once flew into the room, and at intervals during an hour or more I caught the pleasing hum of its flight. The little creature realized that it was a prisoner, yet all its efforts to find the exit through the partly opened casement failed. When ready to close up the room and leave, I threw the window wide and tried at first to guide and then to drive the bee to liberty and safety, knowing well that if left in the room it would die as other insects there entrapped had perished in the dry atmosphere of the enclosure. The more I tried to drive it out, the more determinedly did it oppose and resist my efforts. Its erstwhile peaceful hum developed into an angry roar; its darting flight became hostile and threatening.

Then it caught me off my guard and stung my hand—the hand that would have guided it to freedom. At last it alighted on a pendant attached to the ceiling, beyond my reach of help or injury. The sharp pain of its unkind sting aroused in me rather pity than anger. I knew the inevitable penalty of its mistaken opposition and defiance, and I had to leave the creature to its fate. Three days later I returned to the room and found the dried, lifeless body of the bee on the writing table. It had paid for its stubbornness with its life.

To the bee’s shortsightedness and selfish misunderstanding I was a foe, a persistent persecutor, a mortal enemy bent on its destruction; while in truth I was its friend, offering it ransom of the life it had put in forfeit through its own error, striving to redeem it, in spite of itself, from the prison house of death and restore it to the outer air of liberty.

Are we so much wiser than the bee that no analogy lies between its unwise course and our lives? We are prone to contend, sometimes with vehemence and anger, against the adversity which after all may be the manifestation of superior wisdom and loving care, directed against our temporary comfort for our permanent blessing. In the tribulations and sufferings of mortality there is a divine ministry which only the godless soul can wholly fail to discern. To many the loss of wealth has been a boon, a providential means of leading or driving them from the confines of selfish indulgence to the sunshine and the open, where boundless opportunity waits on effort. Disappointment, sorrow, and affliction may be the expression of an all-wise Father’s kindness.

Consider the lesson of the unwise bee!

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6).

PW