Not So Boring
Every now and then God shows a sense of humor.
A month or so ago I wrote a post titled Don’t Be Boring. It was a simple encouragement to keep expanding our lives so we don’t become dull, predictable people. It was fun to write, though maybe not my best work. One reader even teased me by calling the post… boring.
About a week later, I had one of my least boring days in years. It almost felt as though God was smiling and saying, “Don’t be boring, huh? You sure you want that?”
The day started strangely enough. I woke up at 5:00 a.m., which never happens. I’m usually a six- or seven-o’clock kind of guy.
Later that morning, while putting leashes on the dogs, I leaned down and slammed my head into the pointed corner of a tile countertop. Not the edge. The corner. It hurt. A lot.
What makes it even dumber is that I’ve been putting leashes on those dogs in that same room for fourteen years. I know exactly where that countertop is. Somehow, on this particular morning, I managed to forget.
A little while later I was over at our family ranch when my wife texted, “Come to the chicken coop ASAP. We have a hawk in here.”
I ran over and sure enough, there was what looked like a young hawk standing in the corner. It couldn’t fly, so we carefully caught it and moved it into the shade while I called a wildlife rescue center.
They arrived quickly and informed us it wasn’t a juvenile hawk at all. It was a peregrine falcon.
The next thirty minutes were spent trying to catch an injured bird that wanted absolutely nothing to do with us. At one point I found myself crawling on my stomach beneath a tree until I was only a foot away from him. We just looked at each other.
I was trying not to frighten him. He was trying to decide whether I was there to help or to make things worse. I’ll admit another thought crossed my mind as well: I really hope this bird doesn’t peck my eyes out.
Mostly, though, I was simply in awe. He was magnificent. It was, in a way I don’t fully understand, a spiritual moment.
Eventually we caught him, and he was taken to a nearby wildlife hospital.
About that time my daughter, who works at our family company, texted with news that a significant transaction had finally closed. “Fantastic,” I wrote back. “Champagne tonight!”
An hour later a contractor called. “Hey, is it okay if we start early?” I honestly thought he was joking. What contractor starts early? It was completely unexpected, and entirely welcome.
Driving home, I noticed what looked like a small puff of smoke rising from a nearby hillside. I barely gave it a second thought.
By the time I got home, that little puff of smoke had become a wildfire. And it appeared to be heading our way.
For the next twelve hours we watched fire engines race by, helicopters and airplanes make water drops, and sirens echo across the valley. Eventually flames crested a ridgeline about a mile away.
Then they evacuated a large golf course community between us and the fire. Naturally, we started asking if we were next. Without saying much, we began making mental lists of what we would take if we had to leave and what we would have to leave behind.
The updates came slowly. After a few hours, it was ten percent contained. Another couple of hours and then the words we had been hoping to read: Forward progress stopped.
We slept a little that night. Not much. By the next morning the fire was forty percent contained, evacuation orders were gradually lifted, and the immediate danger had passed.
A day or two later I found myself thinking back over everything that had happened. It had been one very un-boring day.
There had been pain. Wonder. Good news. Anxiety. Relief. A close encounter with one of the world’s most remarkable birds. A business victory worth celebrating. The quiet gratitude that comes from watching firefighters protect complete strangers.
Would I do it again? Well… most of it.
Not the head banging. And I could happily skip the wildfire. There are some forms of excitement that lose their appeal very quickly.
Which made me realize something. When I wrote Don’t Be Boring, I wasn’t suggesting we should chase excitement. Plenty of people live incredibly exciting lives while remaining surprisingly shallow.
What I meant was something different. Don’t stop paying attention. Don’t stop being curious. Don’t become so settled into routine that you miss the extraordinary moments hiding inside ordinary days.
None of what happened that day was on my calendar. I didn’t schedule a conversation with a peregrine falcon. I didn’t plan to celebrate a business milestone, worry about a fast moving wildfire, or discover that contractors occasionally arrive early.
Life showed up. It forced me to pay attention.
Maybe that’s the real opposite of boring. Not adventure, but attentiveness. God simply invites us to stay awake to the life we’re already living.