Grace and energy

This morning, I walked up the hill to the chicken coop to feed the chickens. We cut down a large oak tree that, while beautiful, was threatening to the entire property in the house — given how shallow the soil around us is, especially on hillside, sooner or later it would have fallen over right on top of us — and now there is more light. The vegetation is lush, exuberant. The irises are in bloom. Because we still aren’t fully reopened, there is a hush over the landscape — fewer motor vehicles than usual.

Standing at the top of the hill, I was overcome with an inward sense of grace and the energy of the sacred. It’s true, in my own case this isn’t anywhere near as rare as it should be: no one is worthy of a gift like this, even if they get it once — but one never gets used to it. It fills the entire scope of being with a humility and sadness for being so tiny and helpless, and unable to live up to the infinite promise of God’s beauty, generosity, and presence. 

This gift of the world is given so freely, and in eternity— it is always here, right now —that we ought to get down on our knees, bow our head in submission and sing hymns of praise and gratitude all day long every day.

Yet I forget to do that. It’s only when God helps me from within that I can remember; and this, perhaps, is what the whole question of what man can and cannot do turns on.

Go and sense, and be well.

Lee

Lee van Laer is a Senior Editor at Parabola Magazine.