Annie Dillard once wrote "The creator...churns out the intricate texture of least works that is the world with a spendthrift genius and an extravagance of care."
Sitting on my front porch this morning, I was overwhelmed by the gratuity of nature while watching a robin bathe in a puddle.
It rained last night, lots of good lightning late into the darkness. The road when I woke this morning was still pockmarked with dampness, and across the street along the chainlink fence a long puddle remained between it and the road. I sat with a mug of tea, letting my morning buzz of thoughts calm into a navigable flow.
I watched with delight as a robin threw his pudgy red body into the puddle and shimmy into the dampness, fluffing and spasming in the water to get every feather wet. With a last shake, he flew above the neighbor's garden onto an electrical wire and began to dry himself in the same way he washed himself, fluffing and shaking. He would pause sometimes, as if he had gotten dizzy and needed to regain his balance, and then the process would begin again.
That robin isn't going to change the world, doesn't have ambitions or dreams, doesn't even have complex thoughts. Its purpose is to exist and reproduce and bring joy to its creator and its stewards. How gratuitous is a robin in the scale of all of creation? Think of the fingertips of God running along his chest and the feathers turning red - aren't there enough parakeets and parrots to keep us satisfied when it comes to birds of color? SO MUCH CREATION.
And what a privilege to be stewards of all this intricacy in the world. To see and name and breed and feed and care for the creatures around us, so much of which is just something for us to see in order that we may look more closely at the signature.
All this because I saw a robin bathing in a puddle.
Sitting on my front porch this morning, I was overwhelmed by the gratuity of nature while watching a robin bathe in a puddle.
It rained last night, lots of good lightning late into the darkness. The road when I woke this morning was still pockmarked with dampness, and across the street along the chainlink fence a long puddle remained between it and the road. I sat with a mug of tea, letting my morning buzz of thoughts calm into a navigable flow.
I watched with delight as a robin threw his pudgy red body into the puddle and shimmy into the dampness, fluffing and spasming in the water to get every feather wet. With a last shake, he flew above the neighbor's garden onto an electrical wire and began to dry himself in the same way he washed himself, fluffing and shaking. He would pause sometimes, as if he had gotten dizzy and needed to regain his balance, and then the process would begin again.
That robin isn't going to change the world, doesn't have ambitions or dreams, doesn't even have complex thoughts. Its purpose is to exist and reproduce and bring joy to its creator and its stewards. How gratuitous is a robin in the scale of all of creation? Think of the fingertips of God running along his chest and the feathers turning red - aren't there enough parakeets and parrots to keep us satisfied when it comes to birds of color? SO MUCH CREATION.
And what a privilege to be stewards of all this intricacy in the world. To see and name and breed and feed and care for the creatures around us, so much of which is just something for us to see in order that we may look more closely at the signature.
All this because I saw a robin bathing in a puddle.
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