Window on the World

“Do not say, ‘Why were the old days better than these?’” Ecc. 7:10

                Pastor Obvious hasn’t been up to doing much writing in recent months – somehow I have managed to develop a chronic autoimmune disorder that requires a constant rotation of doctors, because their response to each manifestation of a symptom is, “That’s not my specialty – you need to see a __________ about that.”  Since I have 6 symptoms I have 6 specialists and a GP who mostly just nods and smiles reassuringly.  Dr. __________ is usually located in the next county in the middle of some vast maze of a medical complex where you have to pay to park a couple of miles from his office.  Three times a week there is an hour and a half of physical therapy just to keep what I have.  I am thankful for good insurance, but so far no one has come up with a time reimbursement coverage.

                I said all of that to say that my Pastor Obvious ruminations have been curtailed because walking any distance is no longer an option.  Walking around the house and garden is do-able, but I have to go slow, watch my step, use the railing  and mind where the garden hose is.  Hoses are like snakes – they lie in wait and then they strike.  Earlier this spring, (before I had Sufficient Respect for the Hose), I fell off the porch in a really Homer Simpson way – d’oh!  I am now one of the wheelchair queens in the airport.  Wheels are not dirt-road friendly, and I’m not bad enough to get one of those fancy tank-track models, so I am reduced to spending a lot of time in the kitchen looking out the window.  The Breakfast Burritos are good with this, because it means I am usually cooking. Hanging around in the air-conditioned kitchen when it’s hot outside is fine with them, since there is the possibility of dropped delicacies and the alternative of chasing toads under the house is overrated.

                At first, I was hugely frustrated by hitting a mobility wall – I loved my walks and would love to have them back – but I am slowly coming (see what I did there?) to appreciate the benefits of standing still and just…looking.  There are all kinds of things happening around us when we aren’t determined to get somewhere.  We can’t see what we move past, even when we’re strolling.  When we’re moving, even with no particular destination, life is viewed in a peripheral way:  we might be aware of birds and plants and animals we pass; we might hear their swish as they move away through the bushes or hear their songs above us or catch a glimpse of whatever-that-was along our route.  But we don’t really see them in any meaningful way.  Walking along is a bit like swimming in a soup of noise and color.

                But there is a world of activity just outside my kitchen window.  This is where the hummingbirds gather in the morning – the ones I wondered if they were back because I missed seeing them when I was ranging the countryside.  The ash tree that I thought was spindly and trashy turns out to be a place where butterflies like to spend the night.  Where else would I see Beba the Barn Cat wait behind a bush for at least a half hour just to ambush Roger MacKenzie Cat when he ambled into striking range?  And it turns out I like watching spiders weave their webs much more when I am safely protected by a pane of glass.   

                So I am learning a little bit of what Paul meant when he wrote, “I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances may be.  I know now how to live when things are difficult, and I know how to live when things are prosperous.” (Philippians 4:11, JB Phillips)