Most mornings I go out walking just as the world is waking up. The light comes over the trees slowly, like it’s checking whether anybody else is up yet. The crows are always first to start talking. They have opinions, and they want the whole neighborhood to hear them. The rabbits are out too, nibbling in the grass and freezing solid every time I get close, as if standing still makes them invisible. It doesn’t. I can see you, buddy.
This morning a squirrel put on the show. He launched himself off a branch, missed whatever he was aiming for, and dropped about fifteen feet. He landed flat on his stomach. Thump. I winced. Then he shook it off, scampered to the next tree, and started climbing again like nothing happened. No complaint. No therapy. No long post about it on Facebook. Just back up the tree.
I’ve taken a few fifteen-foot falls of my own. Mine usually took longer to recover from, and I was a lot less graceful about the climb back up. But there’s something in that squirrel worth learning. Falling isn’t the end of the story. Getting back up the tree is the story.
Out there in the early quiet, it’s hard to miss that somebody made all of this on purpose. The crows, the rabbits, the light, even one belly-flopping squirrel. God sure has done something wonderful here. You don’t have to go far to see it. Just step outside before the world gets loud, and listen.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.”
Psalm 19:1
— JC
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