looking through me

Tag: nature

May 8, 2015

nonnative species

Three coyotes crossed the road—at a full sprint down the railroad tracks, through the industrial park, at 7:20 a.m. Right in front of my car.

They looked healthy. Full coats. Loping gait. Tongues lolling. Another coyote or two appeared to be running ahead of them. A pack of coyotes deep in suburban sprawl? Were they out of place or was I?

It’s a dissonance I feel more and more often:

. . . A hummingbird resting on a chain-link fence. The diamond opening looming large around the tiny body.

. . . A mockingbird singing a spot-on version of a car alarm before transitioning into the warning beep of a truck in reverse.

. . . A Gerbera daisy sticking its solitary red head out of the drought-hardened ground—not a leaf around it—unconcerned with the critical photosynthetic property of leaves.

. . . An amaryllis trumpeting its arrival to the neighborhood.

. . . Six parrots flying overhead in bright green, squawking pairs.

Nature surviving in the middle of cookie-cutter city startles me. I assume the flora and fauna is out of place, but maybe it’s me.

Like the red-crowned parrots I’ve adapted well to an environment I was never meant to live in permanently, but no amount of time and familiarity will make me a native. I am a temporary resident.

The only home I’ve ever known will not be my forever home. A day is coming when fences and freeways and power poles and police sirens will be no more. The lion and the lamb will rest together; the coyote will cross the street . . . and neither occurrence will be out of place.

 

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April 12, 2015

gift of creation

What if each sunrise and sunset was a gift? What if each birdsong and flower petal was purposeless embellishment? What if clouds were ornamental? What if colors were perks? What if God intended them all to give pleasure?

Not to say they weren’t designed to be functional, but what if the beauty is as important as the function . . . or even more so? It’s hard to imagine God created for practicality and that aesthetics were merely the byproduct. It’s harder to imagine His declarations of goodness were based on successful configuration and not perfection in every dimension.

Couldn’t the water cycle be a massive piece of performance art? Couldn’t the earth’s orbit of the sun be an opportunity to feature the fracturing of light waves across the ultraviolet spectrum and not just an exercise in the division of day and night? Couldn’t the zebra’s stripes be for a toddler’s delight and not only for survival? Maybe the art came first, and the scientific infrastructure was built to showcase it.

The more I explore the hows and whys of the world, the more the intricacies and the beauty captivate me. Science gives shape and language to the mystery but never diminishes it. Investigating nature’s marvels increases my amazement—each answered question leads to new reverence. The complexities magnify the wonder of the Creator.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Rocks don’t have to shimmer and sparkle. Running water doesn’t have to sing. But it is this way. And it is good.

 

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