The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be — I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
-Wendell Berry

I came across this poem today and I remembered a passage from the gospel of Matthew (6:25-34), “See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.” A thousand images flooded my mind. I remembered Able’s garden, Chris’ lakehouse and Lyn’s bonzai tree. I remembered the Tyler Arboritum from elementary school and the Willows Park of high school. I remembered sitting out beneath the stars and knowing there was a God who cared. Perhaps, in striving so hard for the trappings of enlightenment that I think I need, I have forgotten an essential piece of who I am. Above all things, I am a creation.