Grace Notes

Let my life be a melody to my king
Full of the harmony of love and peace
Graced with notes of joy

Sometimes, as today, I wonder how I can spend so much of my life effectively blind to what God has done. He is not simply the creator of the universe, masters of stars and nebulae and black holes that spin the galaxies into shape. He braids he laws of physics around his fingers, and without him, nothing would hold together. Surely that is splendid, but it does not touch my heart.

Mystic Mountain - NASA

The earth itself is beautiful with a splendor that sometimes takes my breath away, when clouds edged silver by sunlight wrap the verdant green of the mountains against the bluest of skies, when the wildflowers sway in the field like summer's confetti, or the ocean rolls, full of light and dark and salt. It is beautiful and this does, in its way, touch my heart, but nature cannot save me, cannot fill me.

Photo by Michael Gabler

Then there are people, wonderful, beautiful people, who touch my life for good or ill, who take my heart and fill my hours. But they are flawed, as selfish as I am, as incapable of understanding and as deaf of heart at times. And though I love them, they cannot save me.

The Arena in Arles - Van Gogh

But, my God, not only has he saved me, but he has given me back my ability to enjoy everything else he has done. Because I am saved, I can love those who hurt me. Because I am filled with his joy and his strength and his peace, I cannot look at the sky and be struck breathless with awe at the beauty of what my God has created. Because I am loved, I can examine the laws that hold this universe together and see the glory of my Father. Everything I see, I see because he has put it there.

But I forget. Sometimes, I see the stars and do not remember what holds them in their places, I look on the mountains as only a feature of the land, and I see people as untrustworthy and not worth my time. This should not be possible, and yet, I have proved every day that it is so. So I pray today that my eyes will be opened and never closed to what my God has done, to his tremendous love and his faithfulness more constant that the sun. I pray that I will sing out the love of my God with every action, that, though there be grace notes, there will be no rests in my song.

Three Snails and the Moon

As a preface, I'd like to say that I came up with this idea more for a children's book than anything else, and I have great ideas in my head about someday illustrating it...if ever I find the time. Please do enjoy, and as always, if you have any comments, let me know.



Three Snails and the Moon

    Once there was a lush garden, overflowing with every kind of fruit and vegetable. There were grapevines over the walls, stands of lemon and orange trees, bright banks of rosemary and basil and rows of apple and cherry trees. Strawberry bushes crowded in the shade next to tomato vines and tall stalks of golden corn.
    This garden was made specially for snails, who spent their days sleeping and their nights eating all the good food that the garden provided them through the careful care of the gardener.
    But everything was not well in the garden. The snails began to fight amongst themselves, arguing as to which one of them was the best. Finally, a very wise, old snail with a large coiled shell of orange and black came forward.
    “Let us end this dispute,” he said, slowly, which is how all snails speak. “For so much fighting is not good for us.”
    The other snails agreed with this idea.
    “But how will we decide who is best?” asked one snail, his shell a coil of chocolate brown and pale pink.
    “We will set a task that only the highest among us can complete,” said the wise old snail. “That will truly prove who is best.”
    And they all thought this was good.
    “What task will it be then?” asked one, his shell as black as coal as he glared at the others with his long eyestalks.
    “The moon,” said the wise, old snail. “Whichever snail can reach the moon will be the best.”
    “The moon!” said the coal-black snail. “Ha! That will be easy. I’ll show you that I am the best.” And so saying he started climbing the nearest cornstalk. Up and up and up went the courageous gastropod until he had reached the very top of the cornstalk.
    But still the moon was above him, vast and silver in the night sky.
    “Ha!” said another. “Surely I can get higher than that.” So he climbed the grapevines strewn over the wall. Up and up and up to the very tip top.
    But still the moon was above him, shining bright amid the stars.
    “You fools,” said the third, and his shell was green and red and black. “I will show you how to reach the moon.” So he climbed the oldest, tallest apple tree in the garden. Up and up and up. It was so tall that he had to stop and rest halfway through, then he climbed again. Up and up, and up and up. Finally, he clung to the very highest leaf of the apple tree.
    But still the moon was above him.
    On returning to the ground, the three snails began to argue again. The one who had climbed the apple tree claimed that he was better than the others because he had made it the highest.
    Finally, the wise, old snail intervened again. “Who reached the moon?” he asked.
    The three snails turned their eyestalks away.
    “I made it to the top of the cornstalk, but the moon was still too high to reach,” said the first.
    “I made it to the top of the wall, but the moon was still too high to reach,” said the second.
    “I made it to the top of the apple tree,” said the third. “Higher than these two could go.”
    “And did you reach the moon?” asked the wise, old snail.
    “It was still too high to reach,” said the third snail. “But I made it the highest.”
    “And was the contest to see who could make it the highest?” asked the wise, old snail.
    “Well, no,” said the third, shrinking a bit.
    “What was the task?” asked the wise, old snail, as if he had forgotten.
    “To reach the moon,” the other admitted grudgingly.
    “And have you done it?”
    “No,” said the third.
    “Then you have all failed equally,” said the wise, old snail. “Go and live in peace with each other.” And the wise, old snail pulled back into his shell as the morning sun rose over the garden. And he slept.

                                  ...and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags 
                                                                                              Isaiah 64:6