Love everything

“Love all creation, the whole of it and every grain of sand within it. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things.” 

- Starets Zosima, in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov.

Last fall came and went without much fanfare on my part. Besides a few “ooohs and ahhhhs” at the changing leaves as I drove through town, it flew by in the blink of an eye. When winter arrived, I felt some regret for not having reveled in my favorite season a little more. “Next year, I will be more intentional about engaging with autumn,” I promised myself, and this year, I am happy to say, I kept that promise! 

At the end of August, I sat down with my calendar to reserve at least one whole day in September, October, and November for immersing myself in the vibrant fall colors and fruits, earthy scents, and crisp air. For September, I chose a Friday fall day with my parents and youngest daughter to go apple picking at a local orchard, followed by a long, leisurely lunch. We rode the tractor, smiled and waved at the kids and teachers on field trips. We filled our bags with Honey Crisps, Jonagolds, Fujis, and Golden Delicious, browsed the gift shop, marveled at the wide variety of gourds, and bought some mums for my front porch. The weather was perfect, and the day was filled with sweetness. 

Coming up in mid-October is a 25-mile bike ride with my husband, Troy, through the heart of Amish Country! In November, we are planning a little fall getaway near Grand Rapids. It brings me joy just knowing these refueling events are scheduled. Carving out time to rest and delight in the divine extravagance of nature doesn’t happen without some purposeful effort. It used to, when I was a child and somewhat feral, running barefoot, climbing trees, and making wishes before blowing dandelion seeds into the wind. Now, I am so very busy and susceptible to distractions. 

O Lord, how lovely it is to be Thy guest. Breeze full of scents; mountains reaching to the skies; waters like boundless mirrors, reflecting the sun's golden rays and the scudding clouds. All nature murmurs mysteriously, breathing the depth of tenderness. 

- Akathist of Thanksgiving

What happens when I neglect to water my heart with attentiveness and wonder? Well, my head begins to take over with all of its overthinking, judging, and catastrophizing until I’m agitated and confused. Hope and contentment are sucked right out of me, and my senses dull to the whispers and glimmers of heaven in my own backyard, and in my wounded neighbor so beloved by Christ, as I am wounded yet beloved by Christ. A heart nourished by awe and gratitude discovers and draws out beauty in the unlikeliest of places. 

As the field is adorned by a multitude of flowers, so should the field of my own soul be adorned by all the flowers of virtue; as the trees bring forth flowers and afterwards fruit, so must my soul bring forth the fruits of faith and good works.” 

- St. John of Kronstadt, My Life in Christ

Cycles of death and rebirth, trees rooted and bearing fruit, plants growing toward light, courageous little flowers blooming from cracks in the sidewalk… all around me are lessons in salvation, spiritual mysteries generously dispensed like medicine to receptive souls. Even now, as I sit in this coffee shop, rays of sun reflect off the concrete outside, causing it to glisten and sparkle, bathing every passerby in luminance and warmth.

Thank You, thank You for all this loveliness and Your extraordinary patience with my forgetfulness and inattention. Fill my heart with quiet and kindness! Light me up like the golden leaves bearing witness to Your enduring faithfulness through all the changing seasons of our lives.

Invitation 

Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time
       to linger
               for just a little while
                      out of your busy

and very important day
       for the goldfinches
               that have gathered
                      in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
       to see who can sing
               the highest note,
                      or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
       or the most tender?
               Their strong, blunt beaks
                      drink the air

as they strive
       melodiously
               not for your sake
                      and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
       but for sheer delight and gratitude—
               believe us, they say,
                      it is a serious thing

just to be alive
       on this fresh morning
               in the broken world.
                      I beg of you,

do not walk by
       without pausing
               to attend to this
                      rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.