Nothing Much to Say, Other Than Gratitude…
07/04/09 08:05
The dream that woke me up at 5:30 this morning had something to do with me attending the DNC National Convention, which probably meant something symbolic. I got a good chuckle upon waking up and realizing that (in my dream) the Convention was being held in Vancouver, British Columbia, which was probably symbolic of something, too.
After my sickly old cat jumped violently onto the bed for the second time, I decided his desire to exit the house was Important to his personal happiness, so at 6:30 I got up and let him out, and went out myself for an early walk.
I greeted a wondrously beautiful morning in my silly white shoes, frizzy hair and baseball cap. I’ve taken up walking to help minimize my mid-life mid-section and the potential of a looming mid-life crisis. I usually accompany these walks with an iPod loaded with my own private radio station. Yesterday was (forgive me) my Toto collection on shuffle. Today, though, as I walked as fast as my legs would carry me, I needed something different. As the sun peeked over the trees, I bathed in the subtle joy of some early Mozart piano sonatas.
When we bought our house in North Eugene, I was reluctant to live so far from the center of town. (I thought I’d lose some of my piano students from the south end of town. I was correct.) What I didn’t realize was that only a few blocks from my home, the houses all but stop, yielding to the open fields of private farms and a glorious hodge-podge of trees lining the roads.
As the sun found me, I reached the pond I usually stop at to begin the trek home. Some mornings I see a huge heron on the edge of the pond, posed as a statue looking for breakfast. Other mornings I’m greeted by a family of ducks out for a morning swim. Today it was a pair of raccoons, finishing up the night’s foraging. One washed his hands fastidiously as the other watched me carefully. Soon, they both ambled into the brush. Mozart was laughing in my ears.
Pastoral, isn’t it?
As I walked home, I remembered the date today. July 4th. The day we Americans celebrate the beginning of our democracy by burning meat on barbecues and blowing things up in the night sky. (That sounded more cynical than I really feel. It just seemed funny as I gloried in the Creation that surrounded me.) And I realized that I am indeed grateful for what I have here in my little corner of America.
I can go on long walks with no fear of assault or robbery. I’m prosperous enough to own silly white shoes and an iPod, much less a small home so near the country. I’m free to make fun of political parties, whether in-or-out-of-power. (I don’t belong to any political party myself, which is, in itself, a wonderful freedom.) And, of course, I’m free to vote for those parties as my conscience leads me.
I’m free to worship the God who saved me from myself; the God who adopted me as His own son and gave me true freedom through Christ’s sacrifice. And I’m free to type that last sentence and post it in a blog without fear of torture or imprisonment (at least for now).
Naw. America’s not perfect, by any stretch. But I’m grateful for what God has given me through her. I’m grateful for my kids who are now waking up and returning me to the responsibilities of fatherhood and all that. And I’m grateful for the burned meat I’ll eat later today and the cheap fireworks we’ll set off in the street to remind us of our freedom.
Gonna be a good day…
n