I
did something last night I haven't taken the time to do in quite a while. I sat
out on the deck and read. Now, reading on the deck isn't a remarkable
achievement, but since I met with my doctor this week, seems that I will be
spending more time on that deck reading. An MRI has conclusively determined
that I have a tendon tear in my ankle and my doctor has advised that my only
hope of avoiding surgery is to rest and immobilize the ankle. I will preach on
Sundays, but be limited in my movements for the next several weeks. I am going
to try my best to behave, though I haven't done a very good job with this ankle
leading up to now. So, reading and writing on the deck will become a part of my
new routine for the time being.
I
have been reading Barbara Brown Taylor's "Learning to Walk in the Dark," in
preparation for our discussion of her book this coming Monday evening. She
writes about becoming more attune to the world about her after dark. Her
assessment is correct that we often consider the darkness as evil and the bright
light of day our salvation, but she is also correct in reminding us that the
darkness holds great wonder and possibility, from the quiet and solitude it
offers, to the glory of the moon and stars, to the rustling of nature that is
only experienced after dark. I began to try and remember the last time I saw a
sky full of stars or watched the moon rise over an unencumbered horizon. As I
was closing her book last night at dusk, I closed my eyes and listened to the
sounds of the night. I heard a particular call of a bird I had not heard before,
a call perhaps to a mate, or simply the marking of time to embrace the
approaching darkness. Too often, in the busyness of our lives, we fail to
notice the wonders of God's world as we rush from place to place, crisis to
crisis. For the next few weeks, my forced slowdown will hopefully give me the
opportunity to listen and observe the world around me a bit more closely. If it
does, the time will have been well spent.
Jim Abernathy
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