I was headed up for communion this morning when I stopped
for some hand sanitizer and was painfully reminded that I had a cut on the back of
my hand.
It was such a tiny little nick, a pinprick really, but there’s
nothing like a little rubbing alcohol in a wound to get those pain neurons
firing.
How did we ever survive childhood and having our mothers rub
whole bottles of rubbing alcohol on skinned knees and elbows?
As a teacher, I used to watch students come up to my desk
for hand sanitizer, and then watch as their eyes grew bigger and their mouths dropped
open, as they suddenly remembered a paper cut or blister or other wound on their
fingers and hands.
What came next, depending on the kid, was most often a tiny
or large scream.
Isn’t it amazing that such a little thing can cause so much
pain?
Isn’t it amazing how fragile we all are?
I was reminded again of the fragile nature of all life as I
left church later this morning. Sitting
outside the side doors was a moth, unmoving, wings only partially spread to
reveal the painted-eye underwing.
I took several pictures … because of course I did and then
pointed out the moth to a woman who slipped past me to get to the door.
“Is it alive?” she asked.
“Probably not,” I said.
Sure enough, when she leaned over to touch the wing, the
moth didn’t move.
The woman then picked up the moth gently and moved it to the
mulch, under a bush. “Maybe it’s still
got some life to it,” she said. Much
better for it to spend whatever final seconds it had in the shade than on the
steps where someone might step on it and end its brief life that much quicker.
“Well, it’s at a church,” I told the woman. “No place better if you’re wanting a
resurrection.”
Or just a simple miracle, I should have added.
Can you imagine a world where moths were just as blessed by
God as humans? Can you imagine a natural
world where miracles occurred every day?
If you saw a miracle in nature, would you be more or less inclined to
believe that one might happen to you?
Later at the Wetlands, I drove past a Great Blue Heron nest
that I had been watching for weeks.
Today was the second day in a row that I did not see any adults in the
nest. I know in my heart that the mother
wouldn’t abandon the nest unless the babies were dead or dying. And it is possible that one might not have
made it, but the two herons I saw today looked very large and active, though
much too young yet to fly and fish on their own.
I hope the adult herons simply left the nest because there
was no room left for them, because the babies didn’t need to be warmed by their
bodies.
I hope the mama or daddy heron is coming back to feed them.
I hope.
I spend a large part of my day hoping for things.
Because we live in a fragile world.
We are all fragile creatures.
Our lives can change in an instant.
And who else can we turn to but God?
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