Today has been a day of marvels large and small.
The first marvel was large in every sense of the word: after wading through approximately eight hours’ worth of IT helpdesk consultation sessions over the span of three days, I’ve regained access to our website. Rejoice with me!
Granted, I can access our website only through a convoluted back door route, but access is access. I’ve been advised that we will regain access to our website through a more conventional route at that great glorious moment – days or weeks from now – when magical little planned updates to our internet service provider’s computers have worked their way merrily into our home.
We shall see.
The second marvel was large in size, but small in its simplicity. Namely: when I stepped out the back door this afternoon for my daily walk, I startled five large, lovely deer, who immediately abandoned their leisurely grazing at our compost bin and sprang into action. Across the yard they bounded, leaping less out of fear – or so it seemed – than out of the sheer joy of leaping! How invigorating must it be to leap so effortlessly and elegantly! (Did anyone really think that I could hold out for much longer without mentioning deer – again – in the House Chronicle?)
The third marvel was tiny in every sense of the word: as I paused in my walk to admire the tumbling water of one of those recently thawed tributaries that eventually finds its home in the Rib River, I heard the tiniest of tiny rustlings in one of the pines overhead. The rustling wasn’t quite like the singing of the trees themselves, so I squinted upward to investigate the source of this tiniest of tiny rustlings.
It was a chickadee. More accurately, it was two chickadees, hopping happily on a branch, chatting with one another and, no doubt, enjoying the day’s bright blue cloudless sky and cheerful visit from Brother Sun.
Beauty and joy are always cause for wonder, indeed!
The last of the marvels reported herein is large beyond large, yet small beyond small. As I began climbing the last of the not-insignificant hills that lead to our driveway, I stopped to take in the silence.
At this point, I should note that one of my favorite Scripture readings is a short passage in the First Book of Kings, a passage in which the prophet Elijah goes up Mt. Horeb to wait for God.
As Elijah shelters in a cave, waiting for God, a great and powerful wind tears the mountains apart and shatters the rocks…but God is not in this great and powerful wind.
Then an earthquake comes…but God is not in this mighty quake.
Then a fire comes, blazing its power for all to see…but God is not in the fire.
Then comes a gentle whisper…and Elijah, covering his face reverently with his cloak, goes to stand at the mouth of the cave. For God is in this tiniest of tiny and gentlest of gentle phenomena.
So was God surely present in the silence that I stopped to enjoy on my afternoon’s walk; a silence punctuated only by the gentle murmuring of Sister Tree’s branches ever green as they delighted in the dance of Brother Wind.
Silence and gentleness are always cause for wonder, indeed!
What new marvels may this evening hold, as Brother Sun slips towards his nightly rest?
Like Brother Solanus, I thank God ahead of time for these marvels yet untold.