Serendipity

A funny thing keeps happening. Several times a week, something in the RV malfunctions. The delay for repairs alters my plans—and, as a result, I end up in just the right place at exactly the right time.

Three weeks ago, a dead battery in Sedona led me to a classical guitarist named Esteban (www.estebanmusic.com), who was playing in an outdoor market. I’ve been enjoying his CDs ever since. Two weeks ago, a leak in the outdoor hose—which occurred just as I was leaving Tucson—put me in the quaint little town of Globe, Arizona, at lunchtime.

In addition to being hungry, I also had a package to mail. So I parked near the post office, which is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen. I was the only customer and the clerk was quite friendly. I asked if there was a nearby coffee shop. “Believe it or not,” he smiled, “we actually have two!” After directing me to the closer one, he added, “You’ll walk right past the old courthouse. It’s been converted into an art gallery. You might want to check that out as well.”

Globe is an old mining town in what seems the middle of nowhere. I’ve driven through others like it, and most are far less vigorous. As one resident explained, the town has remained vital due to a network of small business owners who support each other. The coffee shop—“Vida e Caffe”—is, I’m sure, integral to that cooperative fabric.

I knew I was in for a treat when I saw the cinnamon buns. I mentioned to the clerk—a young woman named Jordan—that I was searching for the best bun in America. “I hope this measures up,” she said—and recommended an iced cinnamon-vanilla latte as well.

Both hit the spot. After eating, I informed Jordan that, while the bun was a strong second so far, her coffee was the best yet. And I confessed that my primary quest was for God. “Funny you should say that,” she replied, “because this is a church on Sundays.”

Jordan explained that her father, who owned the place, helped start “organic churches”—small, home-based gatherings of believers modeled after the early Christian communities. The six-year-old coffee shop is an economic driver for the family’s more encompassing evangelical mission (detailed in her father’s book, Primal Fire)—and a convenient place for believers to assemble on Sundays.

I encouraged Jordan to have her father write me. Then I headed to the courthouse gallery, where I was greeted by an equally gregarious woman. Susan had moved to Globe from McMinnville, Oregon eight years ago, to help care for her retired parents. She’s a host in the gallery three afternoons a week; as assistant circulation manager for the Arizona Register, she’s up every morning at three.

While nosing around the gallery, I found a lovely ceramic mug. “For $4.50,” I said to Susan, “this is a steal.”

“You want to know the story about that?” she asked—then continued before I could answer. “The woman who made it is a pharmacist. Pottery is just her hobby. That’s why it’s so inexpensive. She doesn’t do it for the money.”

I paid for the mug and started for the door—mentioning my search for God on the way out.

“Nature,” Susan said in a tone that was both confident and humble. “That’s where I find God.”

She pointed out the window, calling attention to the natural landscape, adding, “I can’t stop the waves and I can’t stop the wind. But I get the beauty of the sunrise and sunset every day.”

Now there’s a prayer. Amen to that.

(Colorado Springs, CO)

Caretaking

Roaming around New Mexico, I’ve felt right at home. It’s rained every day! And not just sprinkles. I’m talking full-blown thunderstorms, including hail. When I tell people I left Portland to get out of the rain, they thank me for bringing relief from the drought. While I can’t take credit, I also can’t feel sorry for myself. Besides, there’s nothing like being warm and dry under the covers in the RV when the rain is beating down a few inches above my head!

Susanne is riding along for a week. Saturday night in Santa Fe we ran into two women—sisters escaping Tucson for the long weekend. When it was mentioned that I was traveling the country “looking for God”, the more animated of the two (“Cheryl with a ‘C’”) tilted her head quizzically and said, “That’s ridiculous!” Placing her hand on my chest, she added, “God is right here.”

Earlier in the day, we visited the Taos Pueblo—where we purchased a dream-catcher and Christmas ornament from a Red Willow craftswoman named Jeri. Maybe it was the ornament, or maybe Jeri’s question about where we were from and what we were doing, but somehow the subject of God arose.

“The way I was raised,” Jeri mused, “We don’t talk about God as a ‘person.’ God is Spirit. And we see God in everything—the sun, the moon, the stars, the trees, the plants, the animals, the water. So when we pray, we pray to the Spirit in all life. And we become caretakers of all things. We only use what we need. We respect the land, the animals, and especially the water. Water is our most precious resource.”

Jeri told of rinsing herself in the creek that runs through the Pueblo—to ease her sorrow after the deaths of her husband and son. “My grandma told me,” she concluded prophetically, “that some day men would fight over water…”

Of course my quest is ridiculous. Of course God is a Spirit that animates all. And of course we should take better care of our land, our water, and each other. It’s really that simple. But I wonder: When will those truths sink in? And when will we ever stop fighting?

For now, I’ll keep traveling…

(Santa Fe, NM)

Desire

I had a lovely dinner Saturday evening at the Tucson home of Pat and Don Williams. In addition to fixing some great tamales (a “Tucson tradition”), they invited seven friends to liven the conversation. And the crowd didn’t disappoint.

Over the course of four hours, I spoke with everyone, either individually or in small groups. While they were all interested in my journey, they were equally eager to share their own.

Ethnically and demographically, the group was homogenous—all white and over 50. But theologically, there was considerable diversity. One referred to herself as a former “spiritualist” who currently participates in an Edgar Cayce study group. Another, raised Catholic, now calls himself an atheist—though he attends a Unitarian church “for community.” Sandy and Glenn, founders of “The Shyann Kindness Project” (www.Shyannkindness.org), are active in a non-denominational Christ-centered church. Sandy’s mother, visiting from New Jersey, is a devout Catholic who relies on daily mass and devotion to nourish her relationship with God.

Three of the guests disclosed visions that defied explanation; Pat described numerous “coincidences” she believes were divinely inspired rather than serendipitous.

I’m finding that such unexplainable occurrences aren’t uncommon. And while I was moved by each of the stories, I was even more intrigued by the way each guest welcomed the invitation to talk.

As much as people yearn for connection to the Divine, they likewise desire communion with other seekers. If Saturday’s gathering was any indication, people are hungry to share their spiritual journeys. Rather than resist my questions, they welcome them. And that includes increasing numbers of complete strangers.

Another take-away from the evening. The tangible consequence of faith—for each of the guests—was service. Caring for others is integral to their lives. Even the atheist was deeply concerned about “doing the right thing.” A quote on Don and Pat’s refrigerator captured a collective attitude: “Activism is the rent I pay for living on this planet.” These folks didn’t just talk about God—they lived the relationship.

“We have all come to the same place,” writes Hafiz. “We all sit in God's classroom. Now, the only thing left for us to do, my dear, is to stop throwing spitballs for awhile.”

I felt myself in God’s classroom Saturday. And while I’ve barely begun to touch upon the evening’s depth, a palpable energy emerged simply from the sharing of our stories. No spitballs here—just much to learn from each other.

(Gallup, NM)

Fairways

Five people have now told me that they find God on the golf course. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful out there,” said Joan. “It’s not the golf that gets me to the course,” agreed Stephen. One friend offered to pay for a round at any course in the country. Another suggested that I search for God exclusively on golf courses, and call the book, “I’m looking for God in the fairways but keep getting lost in the woods.”

Millie—who I met last week in the parking lot of a hiking trail in Sedona—said she finds God through Qigong (pronounced she-gong). An ancient Chinese system of energy medicine, Qigong combines breathing, movement, and meditation to promote health and vitality. Millie began practicing several years ago, when she was seriously ill and her blood platelet count reached a life-threatening level. In a short time, she no longer needed medication—a cure she deemed unexplainable. “The fact that I don’t understand it is proof to me that there is a God,” she said. “And the conscious breathing remains a path.”

Tony finds God while running around the Lake of the Isles in Minneapolis. Struggling to capture the sensation, he said, “It happens all of a sudden—a feeling of calmness; everything is all right and nothing bothers me. It only lasts about 20 seconds, though.” Laughing, he added, “I just wish I could extend it!”

Some contend that there is only one way to God. Generally, I don’t doubt such a believer’s sincerity—or the efficacy of that chosen path. But I’ve already been privy to such a wide variety of heartfelt encounters that I can’t help but conclude that God wants to be known—and places few if any limits on one’s method of discovery.

“There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground,” observes Rumi. How many more avenues must lead to God?

A month into my journey, I think it’s safe to say that there are many “fair ways” toward the Divine—both on and off the golf course. We may get lost in the woods more than we’d like. But God, as it turns out, is easier to find than most of the balls I’ve shanked into the trees!

I think most of us, like Tony, yearn not only for engagement with God, but also for ways to extend the encounter. I hope to address that desire in future reflections.

In the meantime, I invite you to weigh in. How do you connect with God? And how do you prolong the experience?

I hope you’ll share your insights on the CONTACT page.

(Tucson, AZ)