“Even in the mud and scum of things, something always, always sings.”
JOHN 20
JOURNAL
"The credit belongs to those who are actually in the arena..." has long been one of my favorite quotes from Theodore Roosevelt. I memorized it in college, and standing in Glacier National Park these past few days, I found myself thinking about it again. There is something about being out in the elements that reminds you that life is meant to be experienced, not merely observed.
Over the last several days I have seen some of the most breathtaking scenery I have ever witnessed. Towering mountains, crystal lakes, waterfalls pouring down cliffs, and valleys carved over thousands of years. At times we walked through rain, cold, wind, and clouds that hid the peaks we had come to see. Yet even then, there was a different kind of beauty. One of the guides told us how dramatically the weather can change in Glacier. A mountain revealed one moment can disappear the next. A sunny valley can become covered in clouds within minutes. Every day looks different, yet every day is worth experiencing. The beauty is not dependent on the conditions.
As I listened, I thought about how much that mirrors life. We often believe beauty only exists in clear skies and easy circumstances. Yet Glacier reminds us that the same mountain remains whether it is bathed in sunlight or hidden behind a storm.
What struck me even more were the stories of destruction and renewal woven throughout the park. Fires, avalanches, rock slides, and harsh winters leave visible scars across the landscape. Entire hillsides bear witness to devastation. Yet life continues to emerge from those places. Some trees actually require the intense heat of fire before their seeds can be released. What appears to be destruction becomes the very thing that creates new life.
I was also fascinated by the aspens. What appears to be a forest of individual trees is often connected by one mother root system beneath the ground. Even when fire destroys the visible trees, the root remains alive. In time, new shoots emerge, and a new grove is born from what looked like complete loss.
Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "Even in the mud and scum of things, something always, always sings."
That thought brought me to Ezra. When the foundation of the new temple was laid, some shouted for joy while others wept for what had been lost. The sounds were so mixed together that no one could distinguish one from the other. Joy and sorrow occupied the same moment. Celebration and grief stood side by side. Yet God was working through both.
The same truth appears in John 20. Mary Magdalene came to the tomb carrying unimaginable grief. Everything she thought she understood had collapsed. The story seemed over. Yet in the midst of her tears, Jesus simply called her by name. "Mary."
No trumpet blast. No dramatic announcement. No public spectacle. Just the voice of the risen Christ speaking her name.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is often how God works. We expect Him in the grand and dramatic, but He is just as present in the quiet moments. He speaks through His Word, through prayer, through the love of family and friends, through a conversation with a guide in Glacier National Park, through mountains hidden by clouds, and through forests reborn after fire.
What Mary could not see was that God was transforming apparent tragedy into unimaginable glory. What looked like an ending was actually a beginning. What looked like ashes became resurrection.
That is the reality I so often miss in my own life. God is constantly calling my name. He is present in the beautiful moments and in the difficult ones. He is present when the skies are clear and when the mountains disappear behind the clouds. He is present in seasons of growth and in seasons that feel like loss.
Glacier reminded me that some seeds only open through fire and some forests only return because the roots beneath the surface never died. The same is true spiritually. God often does His deepest work beneath the surface, where we cannot see it. What feels like destruction may actually be preparation. What feels like loss may be the beginning of new life.
The resurrection is the ultimate reminder that God specializes in bringing life from ashes, beauty from brokenness, and glory from what appears to be defeat. Jesus is still calling our names.
And these precious twenty-four hours of today are another opportunity to answer. From ashes to glory.
2 CORINTHIANS 9:8
