It's not the same, but there's some sameness, I swear. You know that moment when a newborn is tucked into a corner of a her crib, lying on her stomach, arms up around both sides of her baby-soft face--you know that moment when you stand there crib-side and look and look and stay there looking for another ten minutes, maybe more because you don't want to leave because, to be sure, there's nothing quite as beautiful as anything in all the world?
You know that moment?
Well, it's not the same, and I won't try to say it is; but right now, when things just start greening out back, when warm temps and gentle rains just begin to awaken what for too long has been blah and lifeless and nowhere to be seen, right now when those very first blossoms appear as if out of nowhere, by sheer miracle, I can stand there and stare and stare and stay way too long, for half of forever, just looking.
It's not the same, but those moments are cousins, I think.
This bunch of dwarf irises are up before anything else out back right now, a proud little stand of fragile flowering purpleness, a gift from friends' gardens last year. They're here and they're gorgeous. They're just gorgeous. I could stand out there half the morning and look.
The Reverend B. J. Haan, first president of Dordt College, was an old man when he told me years ago that he had but one regret in life, and that was that it took him too long to learn that laughter was the best way to people's hearts. Those who knew him will smile when they read those words.
I hope I have some years yet, but when I stand there over those dwarf irises, I tell myself it took this old guy far too long to realize what depth of beauty there is in living things--far, far too long. And if that realization is simply a gauge of old age, then I'm willing to say, bum knee and leaky plumbing and what not else, that putting on years still offers some blessings.
This morning I'm thankful for new life and blessed beauty just out back these days especially. For an old man, there's nothing quite like it.
No comments:
Post a Comment