I went for a walk this morning. Early. 7:18ish, to be slightly exact. The cool morning air felt fabulous and revitalizing. I spent much of my time pondering the oddity of the eclectic houses along all the streets I walked on. Some were huge and fancy while their neighbours were peeling under the decay of inefficient housing materials. Nearly all had nice gardens, though. I think there must be something special about a garden to an Italian. I’m assuming 80% of the neighbourhood is Italian. 15% is probably Asian (and you know they’re going to have nice gardens) and the remaining 5% of us thread our way into their culture and hope nobody notices that we don’t know how to home-make pasta noodles or properly grow a green bean.
My walk was also a time for introspection. Why did their peas have such perfect leaves and wind with the most perfect amount of grace around the cutest trestle, while the ferns in buckets in front of my door shamefully hung their leaves in a dreary brown colour? Aren’t I the one who took a Food Security certificate? Aren’t I the one proclaiming the wonders of growing our own food? It takes a lot of time and effort, I told myself, to grow a good garden. Perhaps it wasn’t as important to me as I’d expected. There are more important things, I said. More important than digging alone in dirt and worrying about the right concentration of fertilizer and how thirsty the plants may or may not be. Right? What did I care enough about to refocus my energies on and soar in?
I passed a dull red house with fantastic yellow trim and had to admire the hydrangea serrata bursting like sentinels on either side of its gate. I didn’t know that’s what those blue flowery bushes were called, I had to look it up, but they captured my attention with an almost eerie magnetism. God makes incredible things, I thought as I gazed upward toward the distant mountains covered in misty clouds. Dear God, who made the mountains and the clouds…and every kind of plant, how beautiful they are!
The streets were very quiet. The garbage trucks were the early bird, chirping in their bass rumble as they picked up their load. A few cars passed by. I imagined the stoicism of their drivers as they began the trek into downtown. They knew the traffic and the parking prices that awaited them and I admired their determination and courage to persevere.
I thought of my husband as I walked. We’d only been married about a month and a half and I missed him when he was gone to work. I preferred the expanse of open air to the confines of our basement suite while I waited for his day to inch along. It’s not that our suite is dismal or gloomy; it’s actually quite nice. The landlords had renovated last year and although their renovations seemed to have required the basement to flood twice, things were clean and dry now. It is small, but we don’t need much space. What bothers me are the windows. Small kitchen? I’ll survive. No dishwasher? I’ll suck it up and manage. Tiny closet? We’ll improvise. Teeny windows with a view of the neighbour houses’ decaying exterior? I think I’ll hide under a blanket and watch my fish tank until I fall into a stupor on the floor.
Perhaps this is why summer is around the corner and why the view out our “front” door is vibrant in its green fields, stunning in its majestic mountains, wistful in its glistening waters and slightly disappointing in its expanse of oil refineries and tug boats. To be fair, some mornings, as the mist clears off the waters and the sun begins to sparkle through the dew on the grass, the oil refineries seem an attempt to elevate the beauty of God’s creation over our efforts to exploit it. Other times, as the rain sleets down and the cold makes me wish for a roaring fire, they seem to laugh and mock and pound their giant feet with chants of expansion and dominion. But they never really win. Even as the rain pours the grass gets greener and the mountains loom taller. And, eventually, as I focus on the trees and the whispers of wind, I see that even the towers full of oil must bow to the one who created their potential to exist.
Life is good. I have little to complain about. The mall will open in a little over an hour and I’ll have an excuse to take the car out. We’re getting rid of it in a little over two weeks, so I feel the need to take advantage of its transportational assistance while I can.
My walk slowed down as I make my way along the final blocks back home. What really matters? What deserves my attention and devotion? The clock was ticking as the sidewalk passed by and the question lingered. I know the answer, but it’s hard for me to put my finger on it and type it out. I see the faces of my family and of my husband; I see the cross on the steeple of a church, I see the faces of the early morning commuters and I feel the embrace that only God can give as He wraps us all up in His arms and sets us on His path.
“Blessed is the man who makes the LORD his trust…” (Ps 40:4).
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD, and turn away from evil. It will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones.” (Pr 3:5-8).
“Do not lay up for yourself treasures on earth…but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven…For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Mt 6:19-21).
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life…But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things [food, clothing, drink] will be added to you.” (Mt 6:25, 33).
“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.” (Col 3:2-4)
“For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirits is life and peace.” (Rom 8:5-6).
Yup, the answer isn’t too far to find.
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