Rarely seen wildlife creature moments

 

The 11-mile Cades Cove loop in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is one of my all-time favorite places to run.  It is a narrow one-way ribbon of asphalt that gently winds its way through a small valley, surrounded by a majestic ring of mountains.  It is known for wildlife sightings, or as some of our grandchildren described on a recent drive around the loop, "rarely seen wildlife creature moments."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In other words, if you want to see a black bear in the wild, Cades Cove is the place to be.  You may also see deer, wild turkeys, an occasional coyote, and for sure, the continuous splendor of trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a narrow opportunity to run the Cove a couple weeks ago.  Because of the late July heat, I rejoiced in every bit of shade that decorated the pavement, as if I was moving from strength to strength.

At one point, a daunting hill seem to rise even steeper than I remembered it. The day was far warmer than the forecast. I was reminded of the ancient psalms of ascent that the Hebrew pilgrims sang on their way up to Jerusalem.  I was just halfway around the loop, and I was already flagging.  And there were about five more miles of hills to go before I finished.

I knew to keep my head down as to not be discouraged, to keep on running and never stop on an incline. Familiarity reminded me that there was indeed an end to this hill.  I have done it before.  Cars and trucks rumbled past me up the hill, over and out of sight, racing past to see the sights.  Most never even noticed me on the crumbling edges of the asphalt.

As I approached the top of that particular hill, I noticed a large SUV pulled over on the side of the narrow road.  I was curious about what the driver was waiting for and what he saw, perhaps a bear lazily rambling across the road or climbing the branches of a tree, or maybe he was admiring the sanctuary of trees, or soaking in the glory instead of rushing past and missing the wonder of this sacred place.

But the driver saw something else entirely different, not because what was before him, but because of what was in him.

As I slowly reached the ridge, I saw his window go down and a hand reaching out with a icy bottle of water right out of a cooler.  He didn't say anything.  He just smiled.  He didn't have to say anything.  I did not know him.  He was a stranger, as I was to him.  And he had been waiting for me.

He saw me struggling.  And he did what he could do.  Kind people live hilariously like that.

Kind hearts always look for another side to the scenery around them.  They see circumstances and other people differently.  Those who are kind recognize outward needs or inward struggles that are invisible to most.  And the kindhearted don’t think if they should help, but about how they can help.  They know there are no acts of kindness too small to shift the tectonic plates of the universe.  Sometimes they offer something to cover a physical gap, sometimes to come alongside to walk or run or listen, sometimes to encourage in word or deed, but always giving what is more tangible and eternal than we can ever comprehend.

 It was only a disposable bottle of water.  But not in God’s sight – nor in my own plight.  And I needed it more than I knew.  Instead, his action manifested the profound ministry of a cup of cold water, revealed by Jesus in scripture and played out through the ages.  Little unexpected kindnesses transform ordinary moments into extraordinary ones, full of the recognizable grace of God.  What we see as insignificant kindnesses reverberate beyond our comprehension.

“And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.” (Matthew 10. 42)

I don’t know if this man was able to observe the black bears he had driven to the national park to see.  But he changed the course of my day by his selfless vision of what he did see.  My cup runneth over with the compassion I was given, a rarely seen and unexpected moment of kindness.

I doubt it was the first time he stopped to help a neighbor or someone he did not know. Nor his last.  Indeed, he did not just see need.  He saw opportunity to love God by loving others.

And no one can be left unchanged by that.