Connections

Luke 12:22-28

It is interesting how attached we become to things that have no real way of being connected to us. 

For instance, a mockingbird has nested in our holly tree for nearly all of the eleven summers we have lived in our home. We look for her each morning and have grown used to her calls during the evening. A couple of weeks ago, a spring thunderstorm blew her nest right out of the tree. We found no eggs, so hopefully neither she nor her children were harmed. But she has not been back to the tree since. There has been no effort at reconstruction. We miss her. 

On one level, our feelings are silly. No mockingbird is a family pet, nor would we want one to be. They are wild and need to be. The bird could never reciprocate any feelings we had--certainly not like either of our beloved dogs. So why be attached to this bird? What a waste of time.

But on another level, we human beings have a propensity to make such attachments. They seem to make our lives more meaningful. They add flavors we might not otherwise have in our existence. 

A friend of mine had a cherry tree in his yard for the thirty years he occupied his home. During an awful ice storm, it split and died. He grieved it as a lost friend. Once you heard the story of the tree, you understood. His sister planted the tree as a welcome present for him when he got the house. She always came when it bloomed. It gave her a mini experience of the Washington DC Cherry Blossom Festival, so she said. They lived far apart from one another--he on the East Coast, she in San Diego, so the blossoms were reason to reconnect and get together after months of just phone talks. So, when the tree died, it was the end of something special--oh, his sister still visited, but it was different, and nowhere near so fixed in season. The tree had been a fun spur for their relationship.

We will watch for the maple that bursts into a riot of color every autumn. We might look for the junked Ford in a country side yard as a trusted landmark of home. We will look for the horse that runs beside the fence every time we drive past. We will laughingly welcome the marauding squirrels to the bird feeders. 

All attachments to things that cannot reciprocate.

But we need them.

They help us to find our place. They help us to set our context. I would argue they help us with the more salient connections with the other people with whom we share our lives. They do so because they remind us of the power of life. The bond may not be intellectual, but the bond of being alive counts for something. If it is a trusted landmark--no, the rusting hulk of a Delta 88 does not breathe--it becomes a sign and symbol of those who do breathe and live. 

The acknowledgment of other living beings reminds us of the power of life itself and that we are not alone nor isolated in the world. Life is all around us. Our faith tells us that life comes from God, meaning that God is all around us all of the time. 

As we spend time listening for the mockingbird in the morning, we also might listen for the whisper of a child in the house or the murmur of our beloved rousing nearby. As we sit in the shadow of a tree we planted, we remember with whom we planted it. As we pass the abandoned car, we remember the car rides shared with someone loved. 

We might find ourselves more fully engaged with the people with whom we live and share our days. 

Connection is love, no matter what level that connection comes from. 

Practice them, pray them, and be in them.