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I am confident of this, that the one
who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus
Christ. … And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more
with knowledge and full insight.
(Philippians 1:6,9)
‘It’s
early,’ I whisper into
an unseasonably warm February sky.
The fluty
trill of a Sandhill Crane is unmistakable. I expect them in these woods in
mid-March, not now.
Standing
still, I scan the sky and wait for an answering call that doesn’t come. He must
be lonely, I think. They usually travel in flocks of hundreds and thousands.
Hiking on, a
mile deeper into the woods, I hear the call again. Flying low against the
crystal blue dome, two cranes make their way northwest toward nesting grounds a
thousand miles hence or even more.
They will mate
and birth the next generation, some of which I may see come fall when they make
their way south once more, marking the seasons as they have for tens of
thousands of years—and will, long after my face has faded into forgetfulness.
Grateful for
their promise of Spring, their call is yet a wistful reminder that time marches
on. There will be a season when my legs will no longer carry me to this blessed
place to watch them, often as not through these tears of joy which come for
reasons beyond my understanding.
Except for
love, of course. For surely this is the reason I come out here, hoping to feel the
irresistible surge of love the Holy One awakens in my heart, filling me whole until
I cry the two most essential words of life.
Thank you.
And for the
time of such awakening, I am almost as alive as the cranes. Almost.
In their flight,
the Love Who Is wakes the joy and beauty of love lying within the secret depths
of my (and every) soul, our truest identity. But this is just one of myriad
sacramental moments the Loving Mystery employs to draw us a millimeter closer
to Love’s completion. There seems to be nothing God will not use, even our
faults, perhaps especially our faults.
I have miles
to go on this walk. My legs will grow heavy before the 10 miles are done. But I
keep on in the mud, knowing there is a smile waiting for me at home, a smile
that stops shoppers in the produce section or the women’s department or at checkout
counters because something about her radiates a kindness for which human hearts
long.
One more
sacrament of divine grace, working out Love’s completion, not just in my soul
but in others, too.
Christ plays
in ten thousand places and shines in so many more, most certainly in her smile.
But God help
me, she, too, will pass into yesterday and the very thought of that kills me. After
all these decades together, I cannot imagine a world where that smile is lost,
an unspeakable tragedy, a poorer world, indeed.
But even this
sobering awareness of our mortality moves gratitude for every moment shared, for
every good gift received, for every gentle grace that ever awakened my heart to
love the life I have been given.
And even more:
To love the love God is … drawing us ever onward toward love’s completion.
David L. Miller
