Kim and I grew up in small towns. Occasionally, a train would pass through, blocking a road and putting traffic at a standstill. This was incredibly inconvenient when you were already running five minutes late. Sometimes you could backtrack and take an alternative route, but most of the time you had no choice but to wait. And wait. And wait. It’s one of the most annoying things ever.
Not once did I ever see anyone take a photo of the train.
Things work differently in Yellowstone National Park. People get super excited about traffic stoppages. You might even say they hope for them.
When any sort of wildlife — from bison to bears to elk — blocks the road, cameras come out quickly to document the occasion. It almost feels spiritual. We want to capture the moment so we can carry it with us and show it to others. We might make it a wallpaper on our home screen or print it out and hang it on our wall.
This is not a moment of annoyance, it’s a moment of awe.
Both of these scenarios, fundamentally, are disruptions of forward progress. How then can we explain the difference in our reactions? Could it be that the only difference is our perception of the circumstance?
Isn’t it possible to see both instances as an invitation to slow down? To be present? To notice and maybe even be amazed at something that would otherwise pass us by?
What would happen if we looked at ALL the roadblocks in our life as an encounter with the divine?
In Star Wars lore, the Bantha is a large, hairy, four-legged mammal. It has an unpleasant smell, produces blue milk, and is domesticated by Tusken Raiders.
But in real life, they are just an Asian elephant in a costume.
I put the bantha in this painting because it tickled me to think about seeing one in the wild. But also to remind us that things aren’t always what they seem.
What disgusting things that cross our paths are really something else underneath?
Is that obstacle in your path right now an annoyance? Or an opportunity?
Maybe the traffic jam just saved you from a fatal accident that would have happened five minutes down the road.
Maybe the impossibly long red light is an invitation to enjoy a few minutes of silence, a break from rushing around, a chance to say a quick prayer for someone who needs it.
Maybe instead of allowing frustration to mount, and if we practiced being present, an insight into a problem we’ve been struggling with will materialize.
Maybe the illness is a chance to slow down.
Maybe the delay is a chance to evaluate if you want to continue on this path.
Maybe the storm that just leveled your life is the beginning of a blessing you never saw coming.
Maybe it’s a bantha. Maybe it’s just a train. Maybe it’s an encounter with the divine.
