Journal entry for May 19, 2021
I sit on a cabin porch in the Catskills.
My news apps are doubtless reporting the day’s count of Covid cases, how many Bush staffers support a new Republicanesque party, the latest protestations of anti-vaxxers, and the number of bombs that fell yesterday on Gaza neighborhoods.
But in my Adirondack on the porch, the only things that matter are the birds chattering their secret language, Skye the Schnauzer exploring invisible smells, and the stream below the cabin singing its journey toward the sea. The earth and her creatures give witness to deep roots, peaceful being-ness, and irrepressible growth. No matter the human news.
The trees with trunks too big for arms to circle, the daffodils still sporting cloaks of yellow, the stolid hills of ancient birth, ever so slowly uplifting or eroding, and the mayflies born this morning only to expire tomorrow. All speak of change, of becoming something else, quickly or slowly.
At 65 years I might think of myself as a Hickory — something around for a long time. But the morning movements of Catskill Creation belie the truth that I’m more like the birds, or daffodils, or mayflies, when compared to the stream and the mountains.
What shall I do with the brief time I have? The Westminster Shorter Catechism says (among other things) that the purpose of humans is to enjoy God forever.
To celebrate green leaves.
To hear the music of the stream.
To feel the cooling breeze.
To smell the pines.
To hold a sleepy puppy.
These, and much more, are the enjoyment of God. The One who is Before all. With all. All.
On the porch of creation breathe All in. Even one breath is enough.