I like to go back into the city park that is just behind our
house, especially in the spring and fall evenings. The park is primitive in many areas…filled
with woods, creeks, and grassy areas.
There are paths that have been cut into these areas. Some of the paths were cut by park employees;
some by the deer that live in the park, and some by people. These paths criss-cross each other, and I’m
trying to learn where most of them go.
The park is about 1 ½ miles long and ½ to ¾ mile wide. So there is ample space in the middle of it
for peace and quiet, and the feeling that one is far, far from civilization
when at most it’s about ½ mile in one direction or another to find it.
Last evening I purposely went to what I perceived to be
about the middle of the wooded area of the park. There was a path used to get there. I found a rock to sit on near to a grassy,
somewhat open area. And I sat and
listened.
Other than the occasional noise of the airport which is
close by, there was nothing except birds and breeze. That was one of those times when I should
like to have bottled that moment to savor again. All was well in the world, and all was well
with me at that time. But there came the
time for me to get up and follow the path back to the civilization that was
waiting for me just a quarter of a mile or so from where I was.
I’m just a very little blip on a very large screen. Most of the time, I can’t be seen at all
without some kind of magnification. Sort
of like the balloon I happened to spy in the sky overhead yesterday evening. I had gotten out my binoculars to take a
closer look at some hawk-like birds that were soaring above the park. In the course of that, I spied a colorful
passenger balloon vey high in the sky. I
could not see it with my eyes only. I
had to use the magnification of the binoculars to spot it. (The birds were turkey vultures soaring
beautifully and gracefully in the high skies looking, no doubt, for something
dead to eat.)
Sometimes we start thinking that we’re some kind of big deal
in the world. But that rock, the grassy
area, the path, and the birds will all be there in the park long after I’m dead
and gone. They won’t notice or care that
I was there…or not. And except for a few
loved ones who will have lives uprooted by my demise, the world will go on for
as long as it is upheld by the word of Jesus Christ (Hebrews 1:3).
Yet, I know that I am loved and cherished, even as the
creation also is. As the children’s song
says, “God sees the little sparrow fall; it meets His tender view. If God so loves the little birds, I know He
loves me too. (Matthew 10:29)
