A Thought for the Day – October 11, 2023
Two days ago, I took a walk with my wife just as the sun was setting. The clouds were painted across the vastness of the sky, becoming their own canvases upon which the setting sun painted its brilliant array of oranges and purples that only the sun on the horizon can ever create. It was a moment of quietude contrasting sharply with the loud clamor of our daily lives. The crisp air felt like nature's reminder to pause and reflect, allowing the worries of life to drift away like leaves in the wind.
There is more war in the Middle East. I’ve been spending time reading and watching news, worried in that way that we all know when we wish we could do something but can’t.
But, on that walk—maybe because I’m focused on the Sermon on the Mount—I thought of Jesus' words in the Sermon on the Mount: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?" (Matthew 6:25).
The reality of these times, with the hustle and bustle, the relentless pursuit of the next big thing, the societal pressures, the wars and rumors of war, the broken politics and broken relationships, and everything else, often feels overwhelming. And while these concerns might seem far removed from the lives of those in ancient Galilee, I couldn't help but marvel at the timeless nature of Christ's teachings.
Worries and anxieties aren't unique to our era. Humanity has always grappled with concerns about the future. Yet, in the midst of it all, Jesus offers a perspective shift: to consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, recognizing that if God cares for them, how much more will God care for us.
As I continued my walk, I watched a bird flit from tree to tree, seemingly without a care in the world. It dawned on me that perhaps the secret isn't in eradicating worries but in shifting where we place our trust. To trust in the Divine, as nature does, to provide, to sustain, to nurture.
The bird sang. Did it sing to God? Did it sing to me? Did it sing for itself? Now I think it sang for any who might hear it just to add beauty to the world. It flew and it sang and it danced upon the canvas of the sky without the worries that saturate my mind and weigh heavy upon my heart.
How many worries have I had in my life? How many sleepless nights populated by waking nightmares of both my own creation, and from far more sinister creators? How many worries have come to fruition? I don’t know. But, by my worries have I added beauty to life?
I observed the bird until it flew into a tree and hid itself among the branches away from my watchful gaze. I breathed and tried a mantra I accidentally discovered while meditating recently. I breathed in and gently said, “Create nothing,” by which I mean create no thought, no desire, no hope, nothing. I breathed out, “Just be.”
Anything may happen. Calamity may be right around the corner. But, sometimes I stop and am. Sometimes I trust. I trust that in this moment I am, and if the next moment something terrible happens, somehow I will still be held by the One who says, “I AM.”
We returned home, and the weight of the world was lighter. Not because my responsibilities or challenges had lessened, nor because the problems in the world had vanished, but because I was reminded where my reliance rests.
In this current age, it's so easy to get entangled in the webs of worry. Yet, the wisdom from the mountaintop echoes through the ages, offering a gentle reminder to refocus, to trust, and to find solace that we are cared for. With that refocus, perhaps we can find ways to care for each other.
With hope,
Garrett