Grinning Like an Idiot

Why am I grinning like an idiot?
There is no reason for it. It’s sort of like when you get the giggles and can’t stop even though the stimulus is long past. Still—it’s a pleasant experience. As Norm Kuehne often says, it’s better than a kick in the head.
Maybe it’s the setting.
Today as I sit on the balcony upstairs in Uncle and Auntie’s house with the mountains of north India surrounding, the setting is about as perfect as it gets. Wall-to wall sunshine, hardly a whispering zephyr, temperature caressing me like a perfectly drawn bath. The college is off on a picnic miles away. No hubbub coming from the road up the hill with its hectic buzz of traffic and its construction sites. So I sit here with devotional book in hand (its has a gentle leather smell), looking at nothing in particular, and grinning from ear to ear—out loud, so to speak.
This is not me. My mind always races here and there like a squirrel on steroids. So to have my mind alert but calm is a treat. I can almost see the smile of God. Sense his nearness. God is my Father in heaven, my mighty protector and warrior king. But today I am just his friend. The kind of friend you often just sit with, looking into the fire or gazing at the clouds, not needing to say anything. Just being together, that’s all.
Maybe it’s the guy in me. You recall the story of two guys who spent the evening watching the game. The wife comes home from time spent with “the girls,” full of chatter and laughs. “Did you have a good time with Ned, dear?” Yup. “What did you do?” Nothing, really. “OK – talk about anything interesting?” Nope. We just sat and watched the game. “O, I’m sorry….” No—it’s OK—we had a great time!
So here I am smiling, having a great time. God isn’t saying much. I’m saying less. Great time. I can’t stop smiling out loud.
There’s a tree a few feet away and the balcony puts me about half way up. It is broad-leaved, but the branches come out in whorls like pine trees do. Half the leaves have dropped by now. Here comes a bird the size of a cardinal but grey with blue accents and a perky crest. Sits there in the sun just singing. Sparrows and a warbler like bird groom the twigs, while a squirrel splays himself head down on the trunk, soaking up the sun on his back. He is so well camouflaged you wouldn’t see him if he didn’t move. Seems like I’m just another creature motionless in the shade of the balcony. I am hardly breathing.
Here comes that idiotic smile again. Good thing no one is taping this.
A hundred meters away a score of boys is grooming a flat bit of ground—apparently for an alternate playing field. I can barely hear their quiet banter. A pair of girls walks off toward the chapel building, their saris adding a splash of color against the distant hills.
I’ve been here half and hour now—God and I—just being friends. There I am—grinning again!
I am feeling good, too. Rested. No aches and pains today anyway. I have no urgency, no deadline for the day. That helps. Even so, to be at ease like this is a rare gift. I’m not even worrying when it will leave me, though I know it will. Once again God will become my commander-in-chief and I’ll have to strap on the full armor and go off to battle. But that is not troubling me. It’s part of the rhythm of our life in Christ.
There goes another leaf spiraling to the ground below me. A big bee buzzes around my head—noisy little guy.
I pick up the red leather Guide to Prayer. Two quotes catch my eye. “It is so hard to be silent, silent with my mouth. But even more, silent with my heart. There is so much talking going on within me. It seems I am always involved in inner debates with myself, my friends, my enemies…, my colleagues and my rivals. You, O Lord, will give me all the attention I need if would simply stop talking and start listening to you.” Henri Nouwen in A Cry for Mercy.
“Jesus’ relationship to his disciples was that of friendship, chosen friends; he was rather critical of familial ties. His friendship transformed their lives….” Ann Carr.
Maybe that’s why I am smiling so unabashedly. He’s a friend.
Even after the resurrection Jesus took the stance of friend. Those two who were walking dejectedly on the road to Emmaus from Jerusalem, where all the horror had taken place, found a new friend walking along with them, talking current events and Scripture. The three decided to take a room at the inn and to have a meal together. No big deal. Happens all the time in our travels, doesn’t it?
But there was something strange yet familiar in this new friend. He was such an enlightening conversationalist. You just loved to exchange ideas with him. But what is it about him—so familiar yet not? Then he prays over the bread, over the wine. Bingo! He’s gone. The two stare at each other in stunned shock. Silent. Not a word passes between them. They just sit shaking their heads, grinning from ear to ear.
“So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven,” wrote Phillips Brooks.
Troubles of tsunami proportions lie ahead. But for this hour, this place—peace on earth, goodwill to the friends of God.
I’m still smiling ear to ear, grinning like an idiot, sitting on the balcony with our mutual Friend.