God saw everything he had made: it was supremely good. — Genesis 1:31
I commend to you this meditation from pastor/writer Brian McLaren: “Beauty, Memory, Grief.” He describes a wetlands area that he frequented growing up. It was like an Eden to him, with the assorted wildlife and vegetation that thrived there. He also talked about visiting it years later and it was gone; a path he often walked was now a paved biking trail.
This resonated deeply with me, since I grew up in the rolling countryside of the Ozark foothills. Our farm was a wonderland of God’s creation. My favorite place was the small lake behind our house. Sometimes at sunset I’d take the johnboat out on it as the air cooled, the sky grew crimson then starry, and the chorus of the night creatures grew louder (my favorite was the call of the whippoorwill). But now, decades later, this has vanished. The woods have been cut back for crops. The lake has diminished, contracting to a fraction of what I remember, not large enough for a boat.
Brian described what we both felt as “sweet grief.” It’s grieving over the loss of something that was once mystical, magical, and beautiful. But the memory of its once-richness lingers as a sweet gift that witnesses to the generosity, wisdom, and care of our Creator.
Sometimes we humans, who are capable of creating so much artistic, musical, and architectural beauty, have used/abused the most spectacular beauty of all: the natural world.
How can you and I honor and, in some small way, preserve the earth that birthed, sustained, and will invite us back some day? That’s up to us to decide, individually and collectively.
Meanwhile, we can create new memories daily of the incredible, diverse signs of the Creator’s handiwork. They serve as reminders that there are still wetlands and lakes and creatures great and small greeting us.
Even the robin who landed on the deck and looked at me while I was writing this.