At least there was promise this morning. There was blue sky breaking through the clouds. I could see the sun. I could stare at it through the clouds and not be blinded. For a second I thought I was looking at the moon and when I realized it was the sun, I wanted to pull over and take a picture right then, but I held off and drove on to church instead.
I seem to follow the same path at church when I go in the mornings. I walk by the praise band window and then around the front of the church and out back to the labyrinth. If I'm feeling well, I'll walk even further back to the water and down a ways to the Memorial Garden.
The first thing I saw this morning by the praise band window was a bird, on its back, feet in the air, yellow breast unmoving.
At first, because my eyes are so bad, I thought maybe it was just a piece of trash. But my heart knew before my brain and eyes could come to agreement. My heart knew.
And honestly, I wanted to get back in the car, drive back home, go back to bed and start the day over, because even though I know that wild animals die every day, there is something deeply unsettling in seeing something so helpless and innocent at the very end of its existence.
Perhaps because of the bird, I walked back to the Memorial Garden. The hibiscus, the one planted for the previous pastor's wife, the one that I never seen bloom until a few weeks ago and then a few days ago lost that one lovely flower, that hibiscus was blooming again and not just one flower this time but two.
Life and death.
The earth is in a constant state of renewal. And it does so every day without our help. Death comes and then life again and then death and life again. The whole of the universe is in this state.
I seem to follow the same path at church when I go in the mornings. I walk by the praise band window and then around the front of the church and out back to the labyrinth. If I'm feeling well, I'll walk even further back to the water and down a ways to the Memorial Garden.
The first thing I saw this morning by the praise band window was a bird, on its back, feet in the air, yellow breast unmoving.
At first, because my eyes are so bad, I thought maybe it was just a piece of trash. But my heart knew before my brain and eyes could come to agreement. My heart knew.
And honestly, I wanted to get back in the car, drive back home, go back to bed and start the day over, because even though I know that wild animals die every day, there is something deeply unsettling in seeing something so helpless and innocent at the very end of its existence.
Perhaps because of the bird, I walked back to the Memorial Garden. The hibiscus, the one planted for the previous pastor's wife, the one that I never seen bloom until a few weeks ago and then a few days ago lost that one lovely flower, that hibiscus was blooming again and not just one flower this time but two.
Life and death.
The earth is in a constant state of renewal. And it does so every day without our help. Death comes and then life again and then death and life again. The whole of the universe is in this state.
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