Many Mercies, Many Mysteries

I knew the day was going to be a fine one when my wife and I awakened this morning. The pre-dawn air was cool and still, and a hush as clear and deep as lake water sat on everything for a few minutes after I opened the front door. A full, cleansing breath — the honeysuckle still strong in the air, still intoxicating, still a gift — and then the birds, as if cued by their unseen Conductor, began all at once to sing the sun up into the sky, and the day was underway, and it was new, and there will never be another one like it until the end of time.

On the way to work, I saw a fine doe standing on the side of the road, her head swiveling on her long neck, clocking the passing vehicles. I breathed a prayer for her, asking that she be protected from her own impulses, from her own skittishness, from the wheeled boxes of steel and glass that know no mercy. And later I wondered if God or perhaps the saints or our departed loved ones have similar reactions when they see us standing at the edge of danger or disaster or bad decisions. My theologian friends would caution me about anthropomorphizing the animals…or their Creator. But I do not see my ponderings as dangerous or troublesome. My questions have the ability to comfort me sometimes, because my questions are so often about the things around which pain and doubt and mystery and yes, God, revolve.

After the long day’s bleak and unfulfilling labors, I returned home and found several chores to do outside, simply because I wanted to be out in the air, breathing in its benefits, gazing at its jewels. The hummingbird feeders needed replenishing, and when I reached the one in the front garden, hung behind a small Japanese maple to shield it from the sun, I saw that it was completely empty. I set about refilling it, and as I worked, a dark ruby-throated little gent zoomed up and perched on a limb so close I could reach up and touch him. I lifted my arm slowly, talking to the bird as I did so, but before my hand neared him, the hummingbird swooped off. I continued filling the feeder and he returned and sat in the same spot. Again, I tried to ease my hand up to see if he might perch on my fingers the way my wife has sometimes gotten hummingbirds to perch on hers, but he flew away again. I finished my task and as I was hanging the feeder back on the branch, the little fellow returned again, back to the same spot. I didn’t bother him this time. As I stepped away, he whirred right up to me and perched on the feeder and began to drink. And later I wondered if sometimes Someone lifts His hand to us in love or attention and it scares us and causes us to flee from Him. Or perhaps we sometimes sense the nearness of something or someone holy, eternal, otherworldly..and it frightens us into our whirring activity.

When I went around to the back to check the kitchen garden, I noticed that the water in the barn cat’s bowl was brackish and had leaves in it, so I decided to pour it into a watering can for the plants and to fill the bowl with fresh water. When I picked up the dish, I saw that one of the leaves was actually a red wasp who had fallen into the water and been unable to escape. The motion from my jostling the water caused the little creature to move his wings with a feeble effort — he was alive. I pulled a small bamboo trellis from a nearby pot and poked it into the water. The wasp grasped the bamboo with his legs, and I pulled him free of the water. The sun was strong on the deck rail, so I laid the little trellis on the rail so that the wasp could dry and warm himself. I puttered around outside for a while longer, then called the dogs to me and went inside. On the way in, I saw that the wasp had stretched out along the slender bamboo and had spread his wings. I prodded him gently with a fingertip, and he moved his wings and his feet just a bit. As sundown approached, I went back out to check on the wasp and saw that he was still there, so I picked him up, trellis and all, and placed him inside the little hay-lined box that sometimes serves as the barn cat’s sleeping quarters. Because the night is going to be quite chilly, I didn’t want him exposed to the elements. I kept thinking of how he must have struggled to escape the water, and how exhausted he must be after his ordeal. And later I wondered if sometimes we are rescued and cared for in ways that we cannot even perceive through the haze of our exhaustion. I do believe I have been placed in a safe shelter many times in my life, and it shames me to confess how easily and quickly the rescue can drop from my mind.

All of this is a great mystery to me. All of the little living things seem connected together with my own self, and with the world around me, and yet I don’t understand the things themselves or the connections. But I don’t believe any of it is accidental, and I don’t believe any of it is not precious and valuable.

The night will be cool, and the birds are already quiet except for one persistent cardinal who is chip-chip-chipping outside the kitchen door. Tomorrow will arrive in a few hours. Will I be here to see it? If I am, this will also be a mercy. And a deep, deep mystery.

~ S.K. Orr