Night is closing in. It is time for sleep.
I have walked the quiet path today.
I have done no great good, no great harm.
I might have wished for more, some dramatic occurrence, something memorable.
But there was no more.
This was the day I was given, and
I have tried to meet it with a humble heart.
How little it seems. We seek perfection
in our days, always wanting more
for ourselves and our lives, and
striving for goals unattainable.
We live between vast infinities
of past and future in the thin shaft
of light we call "today".
And yet today is never enough.
Where does it come from, this strange unquenchable human urge for "more"
that is both our blessing and our curse?
It has caused us to lift our eyes to the heavens and thread together pieces of the universe
until we can glimpse a shadow of the divine creation. Yet to gain this knowledge,
we have sometimes lost the mystery
of a cloud, the beauty of a garden,
the joy of a single step. We must learn
to value the small as well as the great.
In the book of Micah, the prophet says,
"And what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God?"
Do we really need more than this?
To honor the dawn. To visit a garden.
To talk to a friend. To contemplate a cloud.
To cherish a meal. To bow our heads
before the mystery of the day.
Are these not enough?
The world we shape is the world we touch,
with our words, our actions, our dreams.
If we should be so lucky as to touch
the lives of many, so be it. But if our lot
is no more than the setting of a table,
or the tending of a garden, or showing
a child a path in the wood,
our lives are no less worthy.
I crawl into my bed, feel the warmth
of the covers, hear the quiet rhythms
of my wife's gentle breathing. Outside,
the wind blows softly, brushing a branch
from the birch against the house.
To do justice.
To love mercy.
To walk humbly with our God.
To bring peace to the old.
To have trust in our friends.
To cherish the young.
Sometimes, it seems, we ask too much.
Sometimes we forget that
small graces are enough.
Again, thanks to Kent Nerburn
for this beautiful reminder.
