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Lesson From A Heron by Rhonda Clark
Standing on the green, grassy bank of the pond, I stare down into the rippling water. A stiff breeze cools the stifling, mid-July heat, as I watch a few ducks float by, and several small turtles occasionally poke their heads through the dark, glassy ripples. The droning lull of evening traffic on the far side of the pond is drowning out my current troubles. A wave of calm is crashing into my back and rolling through me, taking away the tension that has consumed the past few months of my life. I pull in a deep, cleansing breath, and exhale what stress is left. For the first time in days, I am able to truly smile. My young daughter’s laughter draws my attention. I turn my head to find her surrounded by a gaggle of Canadian geese and a throng of white ducks waiting for the tiniest morsel of bread. As she tosses pieces of bread into the air, she giggles as they are snatched up before they hit the ground. Looking away, my smile fades and a bit of sadness tugs at my heart as my eyes canvass the acres of grave markers in the cemetery behind me. I now realize that I stand between life and death. To my left, the memories of lives past who, in one way or another, left some sort of legacy, and to my right, the hustle and bustle of everyday life and all the frustration, broken promises and unfulfilled dreams that follow me. Something in the pond catches my eye. It doesn’t look like the other birds. To my amazement I realize it’s a blue heron. He sits on the far side of a tiny island in the middle of the pond watching the traffic. This bird intrigues me. It’s not every day that you get to see such a species in the midst of a thriving city. He just sits in the water and watches the cars, unaware—or uncaring—that I’m watching him. Life seems to be passing him by on the busy street, but he sits, content, and watching. Again I look around. The quiet, seeming uniform grave markers do nothing more than protrude from the ground and notate that a certain person once walked the earth, while the noisy traffic serves as a constant reminder of things left undone and obligations unmet. Another high-pitched giggle draws my attention to the fair face of my young daughter, who expects—and deserves—as much care and enjoyment as she’s giving the fowl that surround her. All the while the heron sits content. “Why can’t I sit in the midst of chaos content?” I scoff at that amusing comment, but I shouldn’t. The Lord of the high heavens gives me everything I need and more. He even gives me things I don’t deserve. Constantly, I’m amazed at his graciousness and his mercy. I’m in want for nothing. I see my daughter jump from her concrete pedestal, and the geese and ducks become occupied with other things. I take one last look around and think about where my life is going and where it should be. I spend my entire time racing from one line in my day planner to the next, when I should be enjoying my children and husband. Eventually, I’ll end up like other residents of this address—under a jutting marker that proclaims the date of my birth, the date of my death, and that I was a wife and mother. Fortunately, though, I have the peace that my story won’t end with a rectangle-shaped hole in the ground. For me, that will be a glorious beginning. I have that promise—and many more I can’t name—from God. That is the legacy I hope to leave with my children and their children. But first, I must learn to live in a peaceful oasis in the midst of chaos. I must learn to live like the heron. |
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