L'Abri Journals...ACGray

JULY 2005
Home | October 2008 | Muggeridge | Christmas 2005 | November 2005 | October 2005 | Sept 2005 | August 2005 | JULY 2005 | June 2005 | May 2005 | April 2005 | March 2005 | February 2005 | January 2005 | Dec 2004 | Nov 2004 | Oct 2004 | Sept 2004 | August 2004 | July 2004 | Summer Again! | May 2004 | April 2004 | Time for Kites | February 2004 | January 2004 | December 2003 | November 2003 | October, 2003 | September 2003 | August 2003 | July 2003 | June 2003 | May 2003 | April, 2003 | Late Winter 2003 | February 2003 | Freighter Travel | January 2003 | December 2002 | November 2002 | October 2002 | September 2002 | August 2002 | July 4, 2002 | June 2002 | May 2002 | April 2002 | March 2002 | February 2002 | January 2002 | December 2001 | November 2001 | October 2001 | September 2001 | August 2001 | July 2001

Chalet L’Abri, July 2005, Measuring My Days…acg


        Mid June I once more returned briefly to the North Carolina Cape Hatteras seashore.   Walking for miles along the beach I watched dolphins at play undulating offshore, marveled at pairs of monogamous phalaropes skipping the waves, and stopped long enough to attend an evasive ballet of sandpipers.  My thoughts recalled so many other seashores where I had been on this ‘big blue marble’ spinning its magic path through the Milky Way.  Gathering the ocean’s far horizon and the sky with its billowing cumulous clouds in one giant perspective, in my reveries I was again at sea aboard the containership Cho Yang Atlas pondering the incomprehensible vastness of the universe.  Go stand at the seashore if you want to get a proper perspective of your pygmy self in the greater Kingdom of God!

            I took with me Phillip Simmon’s insightful memoir, Learning to Fall, subtitled The Blessings of an Imperfect Life.  Stricken with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) when he was just 35, Simmons’ journal examines life in the face of his knowledge of failing physical abilities and of his certain early demise.  Fittingly, the book’s cover portrays a maple tree branch in winter with a single leaf still clinging there.  Each essay title is likewise marked with a lone maple leaf portraying another lesson extracted from living with limited moments.  This is my second reading, each page savored for its measure of wisdom and courage.  “Who among us gets to dictate the terms of his or her good fortune?” he writes.  “We’re not in charge here….For how many of us has life turned out to be exactly what we had in mind?…Life throws things at us that we cannot predict and cannot control.  What we can control is who we are along the way….We can control how much energy, compassion and integrity we bring to our journey…. We all have within us this capacity for wonder, this ability to break the bonds of ordinary awareness and sense that though our lives are fleeting and transitory, we are part of something larger, eternal and unchanging.  You see, we really are all in this together….  There are times when the fact that we are in different bodies, or have lived in different centuries, or that some of us have died while others live on or are yet to be born, seems a trivial difference compared to what unites us and abides.  Our journey takes us to suffering and sorrow, but there is a way through suffering to something like redemption, something like joy, to that larger version of ourselves that lives outside time….Some of us go willingly to the edge, some of us are driven to it, some of us find ourselves there by grace.  But all of us get there at some time in our lives, when through the gateway of the present moment we glimpse something beyond.  And when we do, may we open ourselves to wonder, may we surrender to the mystery that passes understanding, may we find ourselves at the threshold of this eternal life.” .”  Reviewing the book, Balfour Mount wrote that it “is for anyone who loves life – or needs to love it more.”       
We have no more serious business today than watching the clouds drift by.
                                                                                       Edwin Way Teale