The Third Way

Stark contrasts are visible in our little valley this summer. Out in front of our home, the once green field is quickly being devoured by the massive infestation of grasshoppers. Our lawn is barely a memory, and there is no sign that the grasshoppers are leaving anytime soon. They weren’t here last year, and they may not be here next year, but one thing is for certain, they are here now. But drive down our road and hang a left on Mt. Adams Hwy, and there are fields of daisies on either side of the road. A riot of color, it’s hard to miss them, and there is no sign that they are leaving anytime soon. They weren’t here last year, and they may not be here next year, but one thing is for certain, they are here now.

We encounter both of these vastly different views every single day, and it is tempting to only focus on one or the other. Pretend the grasshoppers don’t exist and fix our gaze on the daisies, or fixate on the dead and dying grass and forget to take in the white petals and yellow-as-the-sun centers. We can choose one or the other, but as in most things, there is a third way, and that is to choose both.

Like the dying field out our window, and the vibrant meadow down the road, there are times when life presents us with stark contrasts that invite us to encounter them together. Grace and grief, love and loss, beginnings and endings, beauty and brokenness, healing and heartache. We can choose one or the other, but as in most things, there is a third way, and that is to choose both.

The Plague Upon Our House

Sometimes things happen over which we have no control. Okay, when it comes right down to it, most things are not under our control. A couple of things that are? The mindset we choose, and our response to what life brings our way.

A few weeks ago, life delivered right to our doorstep an example of just how little control we have, in the form of millions if not billions of grasshoppers. I’m talking a plague of locusts of biblical proportions.

Before they arrived, the field out in front of our home was a beautiful array of greens, golds, and reds. Today, it is a pale memory of what it was, and fading fast at that. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

Before they arrived, our lawn, while not ever a thing of beauty, was at least green and easy on the eyes. Today it is turning into a mini dustbowl right before our eyes. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

Before they arrived, we loved taking a walk down our road any time of the day. Today, we are relegated to first thing in the morning or after the sun starts to set. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

Thankfully, these swarming hoards don’t come through our valley every year, but this year they have, and we will most likely have to live with them for a few more weeks. And there’s nothing we can do about it. In the meantime, we are reading up on grasshopper mitigation efforts that we might implement in the future, enjoying our walks when we can, and relishing our early morning coffee before the little devils wake up and our evening glass of wine after they’ve turned in for the night. Anything else would eat away at our spirits like the grasshoppers are eating away the grass.

As the Dali Lama reminds us…

“If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.”