There were geese on the lake this week. Maybe a dozen or more Canadian geese descended to spend a couple of hours here, on their way south for the winter. They gradually emerged out of the water onto the shore, enjoying the breakfast buffet of grass and other greens.1
Gibson desperately wanted to make friends and raced to say hi, dancing back and forth along the water’s edge. But they saw him coming and simply returned to the water, calmly waiting for his over-eager little self to move on so they could return to their meal. Two hours later, with a cacophony of honking and flapping of wings, they rose into the air, and departed, circling once before heading on.
Such a well-known rhythm. It’s a sign of fall, of winter on the way, when the Canadian geese form into a V and head south. Is this something all Canadians just somehow know? Seems innate, to me.
I reflect on questions in the book I am reading, journalling my responses. What am I doing that I no longer want to do? What things need to be released? What brings me fulfillment? Where are my gifts most needed and best used? What risks might I need to take in the coming years?
The author notes our need for others - elders - those who have walked life’s paths. I’ve often noted, with gratitude, those in my life who give me guidance and courage along the way. This season seems a little quieter - less conversations, more books. Less conferences, more journalling.
Nonetheless, it is still other voices who guide me along.
I visit the little rural cemetery, just up the gravel road. I look at dates, generations of family names on tombstones. On one of them, no less than five children in one family died within a few days of each other, well over a century ago. I wonder what happened.
I like cemeteries. They remind me that no matter how busy I am, no matter how urgent the task, life goes on. The world carries on, as individuals are born, live, die. I am responsible for my own time and place, yes; but also, it is only a moment. The world itself does not depend on me. It continues without me.
I open my Bible app and read today’s Scripture.
It is a comfort to be immersed in a life of rhythms, lessons, stories, generations from time immemorial.
Lord, as I dig into my responsibilities today, help me to give them the attention they deserve. No more. No less. Help me to remember that You (not me!) are the centre of the universe, the Lord of the ages. Thank You for the space You have given me in Your world. Amen.
If we call weeds “greens” does that make them more acceptable?