When I consider Creation, my hope and love for God is increased by, some would say, insignificant sightings of glory. For example, I’ve considered the extravagant single feather on the head of a quail. I’ve seen a flock of them run across the back wall of a yard in Arizona, (And YES. I did say, H. and P., that you SHOULDN’T move there because were NO birds, and now every time you see one you remind me of that absurd argument, but it was because I didn’t want you to leave.) with their one feather sticking up like an afterthought, as if the artist didn’t know when to quit. But God did this. It fills me with amusement and eagerness for Christ’s return so I can experience more of creation as it first was.
In our back yard, where I often meet God, in mid-April I spotted the small miracle of one who made it through winter without a down comforter. An enormous bumble bee stumbled into the sun looking for flowers. I know she’s a queen because it’s too early in the season to be anything else. She’s overwintered under our porch and is beginning another cycle. I’m delighted. How does she do this? If I had found her in her suspended dead-like state in mid-winter and didn’t know what science has taught us, I’d have thought there is no hope for this bumble bee. But soon, very soon, I will see her workers, not as big as she is; they will be bumbling through the Catnip and dangling from the oregano flowers.
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