Several summers ago, we rented a cottage on the northern coast of Maine -- somewhere "East of Machias." as the saying goes. We wanted a place away from the crowds. I had read a blurb in Down East magazine. It sounded enchanting: "Writer's Paradise . . . woodland tranquility on a secluded cove."
Imagine my shock when we drove into "paradise found." The so-called cove was a sea of muck and swamp grass. A marooned lobster boat was on its side, mired in thick rank mud.
"Best clamming beds in New England," my landlord said.
"I was hoping for a little water," I said.
"If the tides get around to it," he laughed. By now, I was panicked. I was about to spend my vacation in a swamp. I had been taken. And yet, I realized my dilemma. It was August. Even if I were to negotiate my deposit back and walk away, there would be no vacancies now in any other coastal village . . . east or west of Machias. Somehow I was going to have to make peace with the fact that I was stuck for two weeks in the goo.
I lay in bed that first night, listening to the clock in the hallway toll each quarter hour. I thrashed and turned. Only 13 days to go in "paradise lost." At some point I dozed off, only to be awakened by the low throbbing sound of an engine being revved up outside. It sounded like an outboard motor. I could hear a flock of seagulls cackling. Laughing, I figured, at my stupidity. Light was already drifting through curtains decorated with pictures of ships riding ocean swells. The only boats I would probably be seeing from that window. And yet, I was curious as to who was tinkering with an engine at 5:30 in the morning. I pulled back the curtains and found myself beholding a magnificent sight. Yesterday's abandoned lobster boat was now skimming like a silver leaf over an emerald carpet. The tide had returned. Paradise was re-found. Looking back on that moment, I am reminded how it reflects other aspects of daily living. We live in and age conditioned to believe everything that is wrong with this world. We prepare ourselves for the worst. How it would transform our tempers and the tone of our lives if every morning we could arise and say, "Despite how I feel, or what may have happened to me yesterday, this day will bring some lovely thing." It's not all muck and swamp our there. Tides do turn.
It may be a new friend you meet at work. A new book you stumble upon at the mall. A new truth that fires your mind. An unanticipated promotion to larger responsibilities. An undreamed of chance to do good. We can still approach each day expecting good things to happen.
Over the past couple of weeks, we have seen the best and the worst that this world has to offer. We watched in tears as 230 individuals were blown out of the sky over Long Island. It was enough to cause any decent human being to lose faith in humanity and not trust another soul. Two days later, we watched in tears as the world's youth paraded into a stadium in Atlanta. It was enough to reaffirm that there are unseen hopes and joys still playing around us. There is in human life something good and deep. We are capable of finer things than we think.
Which world do you wish to live in? A muddy world where we live in fear and hold everything in ill repute? Or a world where tides do turn, where God still has something to do with life? That out of charred lives, new hope can blossom. Out of soiled tempers, new holiness can arise. Out of broken things, a healing is experienced. Out of dark misgivings, a new peace emerges. Out of life's disappointments, new joy will come.
Rev. Royal B. Garren, Valley Presbyterian Church, Brookfield.