Two Moments and a Man Named Charles

MOSES LAKE, Washington -- I had a moment this morning, two actually, woven together in the same space in time. It happened as I first emerged from the RV, shortly after waking. The kids were just rousing and Marley and I were trying to pack things up and get an early start.

We are parked on a slight hill, overlooking the lake a few dozen yards away. As I turned to admire the view, I saw scuttling along, not far away, a very fat beaver. As I walked up, he sensed my presence and began to scurry away. I froze and he stopped. He seemed to be trying to determine if what he had heard was an actual threat. If I was even real. He faced me, his eyes squinting. He stood on his hind legs, little front paws dangling, trying, by the look of his flaring nose, to smell what he clearly could not see.

I stood there motionless except for the wide smile cresting across my face. We stood there like that for some time, facing each other, him squinting and smelling, me smiling. After awhile, he dropped back down on all fours and just went about his beaver business.

While all this was going on, the lake was alive with carp jumping high into the morning sun. It was like a meteor shower in water, brief flashes, everywhere, darting quickly, leaving only splashes of light and water in their passing, wondrous and fleeting.

I have been left wondering if these two images are perhaps windows into how God might see us. In one breath, an endless series of timeless moments with him standing right before us, smiling, as we squint and sniff wondering if he's even there, perhaps even running the other way when he reveals himself to us, but more often than not too busy to stop and simply return the smile.

And in the same breath, he watches us all flashing brilliantly, flailing wildly from that which holds us under, reaching for that invisible strange world just on the other side. Those moments when they break through the water must be mindblowing for fish, a whole impossible other universe suddenly surrounding them. I think they jump because they like to eat bugs. But still it must be a rush to leap into the light and see things for the first time. Of course, bugs are good, too.

We are stuck at Moses Lake suffering the first real casualty of our trip. Our starter is dead and we wait for a new one which should be here any minute. Once again, our traveling mercies have come in the form of good neighbors, this time a man named Charles, a retired ironworker and builder of bridges and high rises. Charles' son is a football coach at Boise State on his way to a new job this season at the Citadel.

Charles was kind enough to see us in need and without us ever needing to even ask for his help was soon driving me around town in search of a new starter and a mechanic willing to come install it. It seemed like a joy to him to be helping a stranger in need. Still, I couldn't help thanking him.

"Look," he said with a wide smile, after what may have been the third or fourth thank you, "I really believe that if you treat people the way you want to be treated that things just work out okay. There have been plenty of times when I was in your exact spot and someone came along and helped me. Now I'm helping you, but pretty soon it will be me again needing help again and you -- or whoever -- will be there to bail me out."

Now, I'm just trying to enjoy the break and doing my best to smile back at God.