TINY CREATION

  “The gift of nature is the gift of “being”, the gift of grace is the gift of “well-being.” Eriugena    

Leaving a meeting at church I thought to sit on Mike’s Memorial Bench. Dear Mike, who so loved the church community, whose email address was Micky Mouse. The day was warm, the breeze gentle, the space protected from the rush of the world by the church building and tall rushes. At noon the church bell chimed the hour, and the carillon began a series of hymns. A tight muscle relaxed; and then another.                                  

 Breathe on me breath of God, Fill me with life anew,

                          That I may love as thou dost love, And do what thou wouldst do

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Now, as I became aware of the tiny world at my feet, I was drawn into its space. Tiny little critters going about their daily business. Against the sound of traffic: do they have sound in their world? Do they hear the screaming firetruck going by? Those two little black and rust insects approaching each other, about to have a head on collision, then brushing past each other, did they mutter a hello or smile or ignore each other as humans do on a busy street?

I have wanted to tell you about the tiny world I discovered on my balcony last summer. My space, defined by concrete about 4 feet wide and 20 feet long. The wall facing the street opens at chest level and plant pots line the opening. When I sit down, I can see the sky and some treetops. Sitting there at night a few stars are visible in the light-polluted sky. Some nights the moon is out and a steady stream of lights of airplanes approaching and leaving Denver International Airport. Communicating with God, usually centering on the vastness of our universe becomes my meditation time. Hubble and Webb telescopes open the Universe, in a way that makes God seem so, so awesome, yet so distant. Connecting to the God of the Universe can feel impersonal somehow. However, God is approachable, when connecting God’s energy with my energy. Divine Energy that flows through every one and every thing.

South facing, three stories up, the balcony traps heat.  Heat and wind, make life difficult for plants to thrive. Last year, two dwarf tomato plants called Orange Hats grew little orange bites of sweetness and smelled heavenly. A pot of oregano and a pot of dwarf basil seemed to thrive in the heat and gave off calming whiffs when caressed. I began to wonder. Does God have a sense of smell?  Maybe. Isiah (1:11) tells the Israelites that God does not like the stench of their burnt offerings. They are an abomination.

As the summer progressed, I discovered a world I had been missing. A single shiny thread on a tomato plant led me to a tiny black jumping spider. It never builds a web; it can jump long distances leaving a strand behind; sometimes wraps itself up into a tiny ball to sleep; very shy.

Aphids began to devour the oregano. A soapy bath in the kitchen sink did the trick. It seemed they were gone until late in the summer a cloud of golden dust brushed off the oregano. Hundreds of dust particles began moving, some had translucent wings three times the length of each particle. Now the internet becomes a means to understand a world otherwise missed. Aphids are prolific, reproduce both sexually and asexually. Online I watch an aphid giving live birth to another.

As a back yard gardener, the insect world was important for pollinators and for a world of pests. A world full of things that sting, damage and destroy or contribute in an impersonal way. That was my limited interest.

Now a new world is being born for me. Half a building up, I find a magical world. How do they get here? What are their needs? What are they doing? Why are they in my world? A hummingbird stops by to check out the petunias. A Katydid startles me as I dead head the geranium. A tiny wasp struggles to gain footing on a wet pebble on the little fountain. Once it does, it takes a drink and prunes itself before flying off. A moth lays her eggs on the petunia buds. Its lava eats holes in the flowers before they are born, lacey and torn, if at all. A miniature hairy bee lands on a little calendula flower. It is busily poking a long black hummingbird-like nose into the flower. Not a bee. A fly. It belongs to a family, it has a name: Bombyliidae. A little Metallic Green Sweat fly stops to rest on my jeans.

As I meditate now, the God of the Universe comes in tiny creatures, pretty much unnoticed and invisible to humans who are cluttering up space and earth, with junk. Sort of like a tiny baby born in a manger, unnoticed by a wider world. Going about their lives with purpose and determination. Why on my porch?

Maybe, just maybe, by Grace alone, when I take time to be present, Cosmic God comes to me in the scent of mint and oregano and basil, in the sweetness of little golden tomatoes and in fascinating tiny creatures.              

Oh Lord, our Lord, How great is your name in the earth………

“When I consider your heavens,

the work of your hands,

the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,

   what am I that you are mindful of me?”

     Psalm 8:3 paraphrased

Shared By: Ann Dolbier

Celtic Way Contributor & Board Member