Reflection

Every day, on the way to school, we walk by a small fenced-in retention pond. It’s a small, man-made oasis of life surrounded by the noise of rush-hour school traffic, the smell of the exhaust fumes and the loud honking of the impatient drivers. It is a home to numerous fascinating Florida wildlife, providing me and my children with some great on-the-go education, entertainment and inspiration, as we pause to admire their beauty and peculiarities. Over the years, we’ve seen new life being birthed and nested on the pond’s banks. Our hearts skipped for joy as we watched waddling baby ducklings race toward us in eager expectation of the fresh supply of breadcrumbs. We’ve seen its waters recede down to the small muddy puddle, the rest of the bottom exposed, dried up and cracked, its inhospitable bosom shooing ducks, wild geese, egrets, blue herons and tortoises away in search for another supply of life-giving water. Some of its inhabitants have survived the harsh conditions and came back, some have not. I see life and death intersect in this microcosm daily.

A couple of days ago I was alone when, with a corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the body of a great blue heron laying on the frost-covered grass next to the nearby woods. We’ve seen him many times before, standing tall inside the pond, examining us with his unblinking eye as carefully as we were examining him. Yesterday morning, I turned aside to pay tribute to our nameless friend. His dignified head was folded under its enormous wings, his feathers ruffled by the biting wind, long legs outstretched, resting covered with millions of diamonds glistening in the morning light like a fallen hero, like an angel wounded in some invisible cosmic battle. I don’t know whether it was the sight of the dead bird or the weariness of the battle in and around me that stirred the cry inside my soul - the irrepressible longing for a place where cold, death, judgment, noise, comparison, pride and punishment cease forever.

Aaah, Lord.. I thirst.. I thirst for heaven… I thirst for heaven, Lord… I am tired of battle, I am tired of being questioned, I am tired of being compared, and misunderstood, and judged, and having to explain myself over and over again… I am tired of living with one foot here, on this cold, wintry, inhospitable earth, and the other walking in Your step. I am sad when something so lovely and majestic has to fold its wings… and there is a part of me which is envious of the rest it has entered. I am tired of having to dig myself out of the hole of inertia, self-pity and spiritual deadness each morning of each day, after so many years of walking with You. I am tired of ceaseless effort that living this life entails…

I stood there for a while in the ever-increasing puddle of self-pity, tears dripping down my face, when suddenly I caught a glimpse of a big blue splatter of the brilliant sky sprawled right in front of me. I have never before seen the pond from this angle and the image startled me out of my dirge.

My… oh my… This looks like… like a piece of… heaven… here, on earth…

I stared at the motionless water of the pond, reflecting, as in a mirror, the wordless glory of the crisp azure of the winter sky. There was nothing remarkable about this retention pond. It was no more than an enormous pot hole dug by human hands, created to receive the influx of the murky rain water during typical summer downpours, in order to prevent the streets and homes from being flooded. Its shallows are often littered by debris, carelessly deposited there by oblivious children and adults alike, periodically collected by the tired county workers, who also mow the weeds in summertime. And yet, its utilitarian ignobility was also interspersed, even invaded by heaven itself?! !?!! The best of all, my weary heart noted, there was no effort required… just motionless stillness which reflected the sky. No toil, no clever arguments, no defense attorney, no judge. Just restful, peaceful gaze upward until the heaven itself descends on earth and illumines its gloom, discouragement and hopelessness with its silent brilliance.