Spiritual Lessons from Biology

“I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting. But the Lord God helps me; therefore I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame. He who vindicates me is near. Who will contend with me? Let us stand up together. Who is my adversary? Let him come near to me. Behold, the Lord God helps me...Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the LORD and rely on his God.” –Isaiah 50v6-10   I once heard a wild west story about a polka-dotted landscape that stretched far as the eye could see. The prairie had been set ablaze by a flash-fire the day before, and the ground was scorched; brown and mottled like an alien planet. But here and there stood little oval patches of living earth. The lime green dots stood cheerfully in stark contrast against the ravaged fields. And there on the distant horizon, a herd of bison marched on, unscathed, in the rosy morning ligh

Odds are, you have a rhythm to your life. These rhythms might be daily, such as how you wind down after your workday, or even yearly, such as a summer holiday or family reunion. Most plant species have rhythms too, and not just the seasonal rhythms we know so well. Every plant has a distinctive daily rhythm, and many of these secret workings are still unknown to us. One of the most fascinating plant rhythms is its ability to move throughout the day in anticipation of its changing environment. Plants dance. They move and sway, bend and grope, reach and recoil. Plants move constantly, though it’s usually too slow for us fast-paced humans to notice. Like us, plants are regulated by hormones. These hormones, such as gibberellins and auxins, affect the growth and well-being of the plant. They also help the plant to react to stimuli, such as danger from bugs, obstacles, or water deep underground. As you can imagine, the most important stimulus for a plant to move toward is its food source: l

This morning I read a fascinating paper from a group of researchers in Paris. The scientists wanted to figure out what sorts of creatures were living in the gutters of the city. They sampled 90 puddles across twenty districts of Paris and came back with astonishing results. Apparently, each of these little puddles harbors their own unique ecosystem. Each one contains “an extremely diverse community” of creatures[1]. Among the animals found were Ephydatia (a fresh-water sponge) and Dreissena (a mollusk, a mussel to be precise). It made me marvel to think of these tiny aqueous worlds, and I imagined what it might feel like to live inside one of them. If I were a freshwater snail, going about my day at the bottom of a Parisian puddle, how aware might I be of the bustling city around me? Would I perhaps feel the vibrations of the passing cars, or hear the murmuring voices of passers-by? In springtime, would the petals of blooming trees sink down into my world, and what would I think of t

Gravel grumbled beneath my boots as I hiked up Nightbird Gulch.  The ominous rainclouds hovering around mountain peaks seemed to mirror the sorrow in my heart.  All around, slopes turned that special hue of minty green that comes after a spring rain in the Rockies.  In the meadows, wildflowers of every color and shape stretched towards heaven.  They bobbed their heads in the breeze, celebrating to some celestial music unheard by mortal ears.  I lamented the fact that in a month or so the summer sun will let its heavy heat fall upon these fields, and the buds will fade and drop.  That is the way of everything on this earth; it all passes away too quickly. “For the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes.” (James 1v11).  If only I could preserve these graceful petals, these exquisite shades of yellow and red and purple! My thoughts turned to human life, and how fragile we are. I continued ruminating on these things as I reach

A few months ago I went back to Colorado to visit my family for the Christmas holidays. Winter in Colorado is magical. The landscape changes her garb daily. Some mornings clad the hills with sparkling frost. Other mornings, a fluffy white cloak. Still some days there are streaks of burgundy, gold and white where the snows have melted away to reveal sleeping fields.  The early Christians celebrated the birth of Jesus in a time that coincided with the winter solstice—the darkest time of the year. Perhaps they had John 1v5 in their minds, “The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” It is in the darkest moment of many stories that the turnaround, the moment of hope, presents itself. Our seasons are no different. As I went for walks around the pine forests near my family home, I reflected on how long the winter is. Even though the winter solstice is on December 21, the coldest month (February) comes after. Even as the days are getting lighter and lighter, t

It has been 2 months since I underwent a partial meniscectomy to fix my knee. I’m now able to run, rock climb, and even dance in my kitchen while I cook dinner! The surgeon told me to expect a full recovery at 8 weeks. Yet, after having completed a regimen of physical therapy sessions, I still experienced pain and swelling. I was eager to bring this up with my surgeon at our final post-op appointment. At that meeting I told him I was confused about why my recovery was taking so long. I explained that I’m very dedicated, in fact I was asked to do less exercise because I was overdoing it in an attempt to rehabilitate the knee. My doctor explained that my problem wasn’t a lack of dedication, but the fact that I’d lived with my injury for so long. I was injured four years ago in New Zealand. At that time, I was a foreign student in grad school. As I was without a lot of extra cash or insurance, surgery had to wait. My doctor explained that the tear was one of the most complicated he had ev

I recently received a message from a friend of mine who lives in Oregon. There was no text, only a ten second video panorama of what looked like a war zone. Trees were strewn all over the ground. Splintered wood carpeted the scene. It took me a moment to realize that the recording was taken just outside of their house. I was shocked. After visiting them each year, I’ve come to know their land well. The forest surrounding their home has become like a friend to me. Now it’s an unrecognizable wasteland. I called my friend to make sure she was alright, and she told me the story of what happened. Over the summer, new tenants purchased the adjacent property. They were first-time landowners and did not consult anyone about managing their forest. The couple decided that they wanted more sun, so they hired loggers to come and cut down the trees on their property. Residents in the area (some of whom had been in land management for 40+ years) reached out to the new neighbors and explained that th