The Least of These

I have been thinking about juxtaposition, "the act or instance of placing side by side, especially for comparison or contrast", lately. Every day I sadly read of the incoming administration's new instances of assault on the land, disregard for people and utter disdain for decency and the dignity of life. But, every day, I also delight in walks through the woods, the birds at the feeders, the play of sunlight on holly leaves and the rustling of persistent beech leaves in the wind. On the one hand, discouragement at what feels like encroaching darkness, and on the other, gratitude for witnessing life and light, in all its seemingly simple day to day normalcy.  

Lately, I have also been pondering my place in this world and what my contributions to it have been and might be. I tend to measure myself against the efforts of the people who do "big things" for good which, of course, leaves me feeling considerably lacking and is a decidedly unhelpful attitude. Still, I long to make a difference...

 It was in answer to that longing that some well-known words and a new hedgerow planting intersected into the affirmation that my intentions and efforts are valuable, possibly life-changing. The hedgerow is a mix of black chokeberry and still-fruiting winterberry bushes, the latter being visited daily by a migrant hermit thrush from the north. It was while watching the thrush eat that Jesus' words came to me, "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in..." 

I realized that all the kindnesses that I extend, be it toward creatures who come to live out a part of their lives in the back yard, or fellow jury panelists with whom I recently spent a day, or a neighbor who needs a listening ear, or a roadside that needs to be cleared of the trash of too many careless passersby....all those kindnesses combine into opportunities for healing, healing for me, as well as others. It is in the doing what I can do, and the trusting to God what I cannot manage that will allow me to live, if not always at peace, at least with the gratitude that I have been able to give to the world what is mine to give, hopefully, for the blessing of all.

Wedding Anniversary

No, not mine. Seven years ago I was tickled and honored when my son asked if we might hold his wedding in our backyard. It was, as it turned out, the last summer I would spend at that Pennsylvania house, though we did not know that at the time. What I did know, was that I wanted the setting to be as beautiful as possible, peaceful and welcoming, not just for the wedding party and guests, but for life of all kinds. In the years leading up to the wedding, I had been slowly transforming our relatively conventional, rural/suburban yard into a one that  hosted myriad creatures, large and small and I was eager for others to enjoy their presence, as well.  Below are some musings soon after that magical evening.

"The journey of remaking my yard into native habitat supporting an untold number of insects and a “bird list” of more than a hundred species has been a rich and rewarding endeavor, one appreciated not just by wildlife but by human visitors who are taken with its beauty. We recently hosted my son’s evening wedding in the back yard and the gardens were a patchwork of color: deep red cardinal flower, pink and white garden phlox, red and purple bee balm, white daisy fleabane, orange butterfly weed, rose-pink swamp milkweed, and bright yellow black and brown-eyed Susans. During the wedding, ruby-throated hummingbirds zipped about, grey catbirds murmured in the shrubs behind the pastor, mourning doves cooed in the background and robins, Carolina wrens, northern cardinals and cedar waxwings sang their evening song, to the enjoyment of everyone who paid attention. For many of the guests, this was the first time they had ever been surrounded by songbirds and pollinators and they were delighted to be a part of something even larger than they knew. They had come for a wedding but, in addition, witnessed the abundance of life that can only be had in a native landscape."

Thank you again, Jon and Tara, for asking me to host that most special of evenings, all those years ago.