Shirin McArthur

prayerful pondering


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Hiding in Plain Sight


DSC_3583My first photo here, on the left, might seem to be just a bunch of rocks—and while this blog is probably not the best for viewing these photos, if you look carefully, you might be able to spot some or all of the 11 baby Gambel’s quail hidden in among those rocks! The image on the right gives you a clearer view of the babies.DSC_3567

Until I lived here, I didn’t realize that quail could raise more than one brood each year. These babies seem so tiny for July, especially since we’ve seen other, older baby quail earlier in the season. It turns out that, in more abundant years, quail will have additional broods—and I’m guessing that our bird feeders have created a small haven of abundance in the midst of this ongoing drought, giving the quail enough food on which to raise additional chicks.

As I was snapping pictures, I found myself thinking about how much of our wildlife here hides in plain sight. Lizards and horned toads sun themselves on our rocks, and I often don’t see them until they decide to move. Rabbits will often surprise me when I’m out watering, scurrying away through the grass because they think I’ve seen them—when in fact I didn’t notice them until they moved. All of these creatures are prey for animals quite larger than they—and many of those predators also excel at hiding in plain sight.

Stillness is a major component of being able to hide in plain sight, and it’s something at which we humans do not excel. In fact, we’ve become so accustomed to being “rulers of all we survey” that we blithely stroll, and often speed, through our environment without any regard for the other creatures with whom we share this space. The quail are particularly quick to catch our movements with their peripheral vision, scurrying away even when we move around inside the house.

To me, this means I must also remain still in order to see. Sometimes I enjoy sitting on the back porch, especially after we’ve enjoyed breakfast or dinner on our patio, and just being still, watching to see what catches my attention. We’ve spotted a bobcat and hawks from our backyard place of stillness, as well as numerous smaller creatures.

Does stillness have a place in your own life? Have you ever noticed some amazing element of God’s creation hiding in plain sight? What might the stillness of our fellow creatures—both predators and prey—have to teach us about our life, and our life in God?

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Crises, Hummingbirds, and Margaritas


It’s been a tough week. Someone shot down a commercial airliner over Ukrainian airspace, the Israelis and Hamas are re-engaged in brutal combat, and hundreds of helpless migrant children have become pawns in an ongoing political battle about America’s southern border. There are two or more sides to all of the conflicts underlying these events, and it seems there is very little room for God’s love, or even human decency, as each side demonizes the other.

Closer to home, we have a friend who has had a pretty crisis-laden week or two as well. The drought has completely dried up her well, one of her dogs was attacked by a black bear cub, and a cat came home with internal injuries that led to a vet bill of over $650. Fortunately the animals are recovering and she has joined a number of other New Mexicans in having water delivered to her home, but when she mentioned the need to relax with “a pitcher of margaritas,” we asked if she might like some company.

As a result, yesterday became a day of rest from crises. In the morning, Henry and I drove to photograph a Hummingbird Festival near Lake Roberts. DSC_3396 cropResearchers were catching, banding, weighing, and measuring the various hummingbirds that were flocking to the bird feeders at the Little Toad Creek Inn & Tavern. I got some great images for the Grant County Beat, and some for myself as well. DSC_3368 cropThen in the afternoon our friend joined us for a trek across the border into Palomas, Mexico, to visit the Pink Store for a meal and a margarita or two, as well as a lot of story-sharing and laughter.

It was a good break. And last evening we returned to doing our share to show this crisis-ridden world a bit of Love. Henry composed an email to local faith groups, advertising the need expressed by the New Mexico Coalition for Faith and Immigration for travel-sized toiletries for the migrant children at our border. I am holding all these crises in prayer and listening for what else God might be inviting me to do.

When crises descend upon our lives, we can lose track of the need for rest and relaxation. We can become so caught up in the turmoil that we forget to step back (literally or metaphorically) and take time to connect with friends, and with God, before returning to face what is going on in the world around us. Obviously, the timing of those breaks is essential—our friend needed to get her animals’ needs taken care of before taking time away—but they are important for our health and well-being, and for our relationship with God.

And so I invite you to remember, probably “yet again,” that even God took a day off—the Sabbath. Is it time for you to take one, too?


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Clouds


I’ve been reading, through a couple of online writers’ forums, about the havoc being wrought recently by weather on this continent: tornadoes full of rain and wind in Pennsylvania, hurricane damage in Nova Scotia that left a fellow writer without power for almost a week. While we’ve been in the desperate grip of drought here in New Mexico, rain has been cascading down on soaked landscapes elsewhere.

Fortunately for New Mexico, our summer “monsoon” rains have finally arrived. After months of completely clear blue skies, day after day, it’s wonderful to see clouds build up, pregnant with water, and empty themselves over the landscape in afternoon torrents of rainwater. More unusual have been a couple of nights or early mornings where the gentle drip of a light rain has woken me from sleep.

photo(5)In this monsoon season I love to watch the rain clouds billow and darken, shifting as the prevailing winds push them across our skyscape. Lighting and thunder frequently come along for the ride. Many days I can literally see the rain, like curtains hanging from the sky (and called virga when they don’t reach the ground), advancing toward us across the desert landscape until it descends upon our land and drives me under the porch or indoors with its fierce pounding. Other days the clouds almost seem to bob and sway, moving directly toward us and then veering off to water a different patch of desperately dry ground.

I see a connection between these clouds and our spiritual lives. There are seasons that feel dry as a bone, with nary a nourishing cloud in sight. These seasons can feel endless, and while we know how critical the sun is in our lives (from both scientific and spiritual perspectives), we can come to feel only the thirst and the heat, until our souls cry out for the rain.

In other seasons, the clouds come not as blessing but with threat and power, dragging wind, lightning and torrents of rain along with them, wreaking havoc and destruction upon our frail human structures. The earth cannot absorb the quantities of water, causing floods and mudslides which further disturb our carefully ordered lives. In those times we desperately long for the calm of a dry, sunny day.

And then there are those seasons where the rain comes more gently and moderately, in dancing rhythm with the sunshine, at a rate which allows earth to absorb it, and vegetation to drink deep and flourish.

Which type of spiritual season are you experiencing in your life right now? Does your relationship with God feel dry and desolate, or is there so much happening to test and strengthen you that you long for some peace and calm? Or is there a sense of balance in your spiritual life, of rain and sun, of ebb and flow, of gift and grace?

Can you gather strength, from the memory of other seasons, to endure whatever type of season you are now experiencing?


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Pests, Blogs, and the Spiritual Life


photo(4)This spring Henry and I spent many hours building a cage to keep animals out of one area of our yard so that I might attempt a vegetable garden. It turned into quite an elaborate enterprise, in part because we kept changing the parameters. Originally we purchased plastic deer fencing, then realized we also needed to keep the birds and bunnies out. We ended up with two different types of bird netting, some of which we stapled on top of the deer fencing because the holes were large enough that birds were getting in. I planted a number of seeds and young transplants, as well as moving my raspberry and blackberry bushes into the cage in the hopes that I might get a few of the berries.

Last month I was away for a few days, and a friend was watering. The very day I came home, something got into the garden, ate the lettuce back to the ground, chomped on a few other seedlings, and “topped” about half of my tomato plants. When I investigated, I discovered that something—presumably a young rabbit, as I later saw one doing exactly that—had literally chewed through the bird netting at ground level and squeezed through the holes in the deer fencing to get at my tasty young plants. So out I went to purchase chicken wire, which I stapled over the lowest layer of the cage. This seems to have solved the rabbit problem.

But I’ve still got pests. I’ve found tiny baby grasshoppers in my garden, and they or some other pests have also nibbled holes in pepper and berry leaves, munched on the spinach, and even munched through the tender young stems of the berry plants. And a couple days ago I saw a tiny bird inside my garden—which slipped out between the bird netting when I walked into the cage—proving that some birds are small enough that netting makes no difference! The next day there was actually an oriole inside the cage! I still have absolutely no idea how it got in, and we spent a bit of time trying to chase it toward the open gate before it finally got so exhausted that I was able to capture it and carry it out.

I’m frustrated, but there are limits to what I am willing to do to stop the invaders. I am determined to have an organic garden, and know that bees are critical as pollinators, so I will not be spraying poisons around my yard or screening in the entire garden. I’m also very aware of the terrible drought that is plaguing our state, and many others, which means there is not much food available for the wild critters around here.

So what does all this have to do with the spiritual life? I’ve been pondering that over the past few days. Part of it, I suppose, is the relentlessness on both sides of the equation. The bugs and beasts keep trying to get food, and the plants keep trying to grow. Munching might delay a plant’s fruiting, but it takes more than most of these predators can manage to actually kill a plant.

I think the distractions, detours, and other struggles in our lives are similar. I delayed starting this blog for many months, but eventually the Spirit, pushing for it, was able to overcome the insect-type depredations that I let nibble away at my time and energy each week, keeping the blogs from coming into being. Now, with the commitment made, it’s sometimes still a struggle, but there’s always something worth writing about, and some way to connect it with that larger picture of growth in the spiritual life.

What in your own life is struggling to make headway against the depredation of the “pests” in your life? Where do you need to set clearer boundaries, commit to new practices, or make other changes in order to bring about growth, maturity, and fruit in your own life?