Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Life volunteers.

April 25, 2017

 

I watched a film recently and, nestled within it, was this allegory of perseverance, a story of train tracks being built over mountains, even though the technology to cross those mountains didn't yet exist.

 

That has stuck with me for days. To my continuing dismay, I realize I am not one for faith. I can talk a good game, but when it comes to belief, like so many of us, I just don't believe that good things will happen for me. But this story was, yes, about faith, but it was about building, creating something tangible that was essentially a monument to faith. 

 

Tangible I can do. So this got me thinking--we prepare the garden beds every spring and, I don't know about you, but I tempt fate by sowing slightly-less-robust seeds (beans, nasturtiums, summer squash) before the last frost--just on the off-chance. 

 

What the train tracks story made clear is that my "just on the off-chance" habit *is* an act of faith. I am practicing faith, I guess, even when I get up in the morning, get dressed. I am practicing faith when I make a rare purchase of something I don't need, but love, despite the fact that I've nowhere to put it. That's practicing faith that one day I *will.*

 

I suppose I've never thought of faith as a tangible, moldable object before, but now that I have, it makes sense. 

Just as in the garden, if given space, seeds volunteer. Life volunteers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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