Seasons, Egrets and Death

 

I set out to see the egrets but they were gone. There are things in nature I can watch for hours, lightning storms, meteor showers and egrets on water are some. The wingspan of an egret is roughly two feet less than that of an eagle. In stillness their white regalia makes forest backgrounds fade. Majestic and elegant flying over water, still captivating, though not as dramatic as an eagle stretching out to snatch a fish from the water (go watch a Mark Smith video). The egrets are gone from the rookery. To return in Spring. The cycle of seasons.

The question on the intake form, “Do you think of death?” I answered no (I lied) and handed the form back to the masked lady behind the desk. I think of death often. It seems a natural thought process. I mean, the song that put Marc Scibilia on the charts begins, “I’ve been thinking about dying, and how that’s gonna be…” In Christ it’s the air we breathe; crucified savior, cruciform life. Even Solomon says, “It is better to go into a house of mourning, for that is the end of every man, and it causes the living to take notice.” Maybe I should have answered yes to that question. The question should read, “Do you think about death without hope?”

My hope is to photograph an egret in it’s glide over the water. White wings shimmering in reflection, all creation still and silent. And why head to the rookery? To quote Lewis, “But nature gave the word glory a meaning for me. I still do not know where else I could have found one.” For nature awakens in us longings for another world. I glimpse that in the egret.

Photo by Akshat Adsule on Unsplash

Belonging And The American Dream

"We ought to give thanks for all fortune: if it is good, because it is good, if bad, because it works in us patience, humility, and the contempt of this world and the hope of our eternal country.” C.S. Lewis

Like locusts that eat golden years, termites chomp on wooden dreams. In times past I had a house. As great a house as it was, it was more a symbol of a dream. A dream of stability. A dream of connecting with neighbors and creating memories of my daughter growing up. Wife, daughter, dog, lawn, backyard, gas grill—the American dream. It took five years for it all to blow up. It was never about the house anyway. It was about belonging.

Since Hillary Tower was stolen away I’ve known it. She was an older woman—maybe twelve years old to my six. She lived in the house behind ours. I’d go there and play games, in the house and yard, Ring-Around-The-Rosie, Hide-and-Seek, Tag. I had a thing for Hillary. One day she disappeared. Like Puff the Dragon; gone. My parents mentioned her moving briefly, “Oh yeah, her parents had to move.” I thought as a grown up I could have stability. No more Hillary Tower episodes. It was about connecting.

I’ve moved ten times since Hillary. I’ve been fortunate as each move brought me into contact with rich, abiding friendships. At every structure I’ve lived in God has brought a friend into the picture. The friends remain. I keep moving. 

I am partially known. Partially settled. Still searching. This is the ever-present tension: to be fully known, fully accepted and home. The angst is brought to light in the life of Abraham, “he lived as an alien in the land of promise, in a foreign land, dwelling in tents, a stranger and exile on earth, for it is clear he seeks a county of his own.” 

I expect to move into a house, with my beloved and settle in for the next little stretch of life. A little house, in a nice tract, with ideal walkability, close to wilderness, near restaurants and night life. It’ll be good but just good. I’ll never quite belong, never have the perfect connections, never feel quite settled. I’m made for that eternal country where I will be fully known, fully accepted. God will redeem the years the locust has eaten.

Photo by Tom Thain on Unsplash

Wanderlust: Blessing or Curse?

Is wanderlust a blessing or a curse?  I don’t understand the lack of hunger to explore.  It extends beyond that; music and the arts; museums and live theatre.  Why am I so hungry to plunge into these when others have no interest?  I envy their contentedness—at a shallow level.  I find I am most content when I have calendared the next seminar; get-away or road trip!  Sometimes I wonder if the problem is me and not them.

Am I looking to be filled?  Does adventure equal ego?  Is it all my flesh looking to the next new thing?  Is it topographical ADD?  Certainly there is some synchronicity of personality involved.  It maybe that this tangible want for more is just one side of the coin.

Here’s the flip.  It’s that same wiring (good or bad) that keeps me from being content with the status quo.  Here’s a short list of things that the wanderlust fallout impacts: my hunger for God (“Like the deer pants for the water so my soul pants after You…”), my performance at work (good service should mean pushing for better) and how I date my wife (wanderlust drives me to creative dating.)  Those are some positives. 

So what purpose then?  At the core is the desire for stillness, peace and worship.  Perhaps this is best typified through the words of John Erastus Lester, a reporter and visitor to Yosemite in 1873; 

“To attempt to describe the grandeur of this scene (from Inspiration Point) would be folly; to tell of the feelings of awe, of humility, or reverence, which are here aroused, is all that can be done.  He who tries to believe there is no God is here at once converted in the twinkling of an eye; and his feelings of reverence and veneration, blended with love and beauty force him to a worship at once pure and creedless.”
 

The partial answer---and perhaps the answer in full---is that the quest for beauty is the quest to taste of Heaven.  In the end it remains C.S. Lewis that said it best; 

"These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols,breaking the hearts of their worshippers.  For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” 

 

Desire And Work

"Within my lifetime in England money was (very properly) collected to buy shirts for some men who were out of work.  The work they were out of was the manufacture of shirts."

If I had all the chocolate in the world, the fastest bike, the most money, carte-blanche at Trader Joes; the wish-list starts in childhood and changes as we grow into adults. Still it never goes away. For some adults it ever stays at the chocolate wishing phase. If we are serious we attempt to break down desire into healthy/unhealthy, needs or wants. My life like yours is one in process. For me part of the process comes in blogging as I wrestle in hopes that the sharing and grappling will produce answers.

In our life’s work we question ‘calling.’ Is this a western idea or are we called to specific work? Or are we to just do our Nine-to-Five and find our fulfillment outside of those hours? We can count on one hand friends who have careers that imbue their life with meaning. There are aspects of my work that I enjoy, the customer interactions (mostly), the sharing of life and knowledge of coffee. I dislike being underutilized, having no respect and given authority not commensurate with my position.

What of the rice farmer in China—or in Fresno for that matter. Do they feel called or are they simply putting food on the table? C.S. Lewis writing on Good Work and Good Works says, “…so we shall do better if we remember at every moment what Good Work was and how impossible it has now become for the majority. We may have to earn our living by taking part in the production of objects which are rotten in quality and which, even if they were good in quality, would not be worth producing---the demand or ‘market’ for them having been simply engineered by advertisement….”

We have two basic needs; security and significance (Lawrence Crabb). Ultimately these are found in Christ; in doing our work to the glory of God. In eking out our work we seek fullness of both of these. I sense that we may never fully arrive yet we dare not cease striving to do both good work and good works.