Enchantment

I am writing while away for two weeks of rest.

This past Sunday afternoon, Ed and I drove to Stockbridge, MA to visit the Berkshire Botanical Garden. Every turn offered something gorgeous — a vast sweep of grass edged with wildflowers leading to a hidden garden, a tiny woodland garden built for children, the calm water of a lily pond tucked near a rocky outcropping. I find rest in gardens. Perhaps you do too.

This time away has carried me back to the enchantment of my childhood — joy in sloshing my feet through springs that welled up in the yard after rain, wonder in the summer stars while lying on my back in the grass after dark, fascination with strange insects like lanky praying mantises and bright red ladybugs, awe in finding jack-in-the-pulpits under the hemlock. 

I grew up on four wooded acres that invited exploration. Mornings were for work — weeding, chopping wood, raking, clearing. Afternoons and evenings were ours, free to roam. My brother and I explored and played for hours. I found God in those wooded acres — in the decaying leaves that gave cover to worms, in the heat of the sun that dappled our cheeks with freckles, and in the new life of bunnies zigzagging through the yard.

My prayer for you this summer is simple: that you find your own moments of joy and wonder, whatever your circumstances. Open yourself to the beauty around you. God has gifted us a magnificent world, one worthy of our thanks and praise.

If words of praise don't come easily right now, borrow Saint Francis's. His Canticle of the Sun may help you hand your burdens over to God, and open your soul to this enchanted world.