At some point in life, you’re likely to notice that autumn leaves have—for the most part—lost their capacity to enchant.
Often, it happens the year the youngest one heads off to college…and you find yourself wielding the rake (and wrestling with those confounded yard-waste bags) alone.
Where’s the magic in a leaf-pile, after all, if no one’s around to take the plunge?
Raking becomes strictly a volume-and-efficiency situation: How long’s it gonna take to complete the chore? And will I have enough of those bags this year…or will I have to make yet another trip to the store?
Earlier this week, I was about halfway through the dreary task…when our almost-two-year-old granddaughter toddled out to the front yard to ‘help.’
Hannah’s like a spoonful of sugar: She tends to make even bitter medicine much easier for her Gramps to swallow. True enough, she’s a little too small to handle a rake with any level of proficiency. But she’s just the right size to notice beauty in things that in my haste I often overlook.
We heard about guys like me in the first reading—from the Book of Wisdom—at Mass today.
All men were by nature foolish who were in ignorance of God,
and who from the good things seen
did not succeed in knowing God who is,
and from studying the works
did not discern the Artisan
Hannah is quite young, much too young to be quoting from the Book of Wisdom. Still, there are things she seems to know. Important things, such as this: When the leaf-raking slows to a contemplative pace, it can lead you into the very heart of things.
And open your eyes…to a love letter of sorts…from the Artisan.
Let us pause now…to recall that we are in the presence of the Holy One.