Making a little bit of difference

The "Soup to Nuts" cartoon in Tuesday's Gazette evoked memories of another day, one of only a few I have spent on the shorelines of this great continent. It was 1994, and we were in San Diego to witness our eldest son's graduation from Marine Corps Basic Training. Of course, you cannot visit a coastal state and fail to visit the beaches available, and we took full advantage of the opportunity, meandering up and down the Pacific Coast Highway looking for a likely spot to pull off and enjoy the sun setting in the watery west.

In the cartoon, the youngest character, Andrew, is observed by his cynical older brother picking worms off of the rain-soaked sidewalk and carefully placing them in the wet grass. The elder brother chides him, noting that he "can't get 'em all, so what difference does it make?" To which young Andrew sagely replies while gently depositing another worm, "It makes a difference to this one."

I'm not ashamed necessarily to admit this, abashed may be a better term, but I'm the grown-up, female version of the somewhat sappy Andrew. On our evening stroll along the beach on that early September evening, I found myself rescuing little shell-dwelling sea creatures that had washed up along the shoreline.

I am not alone. When we were first expecting Benjamin, Danny was working at a Pepsi Cola bottling plant in Worland, Wyo. He was working the swing shift and had only just reported for work when a knock came at the door. A young man stood there, hands cupped around four tiny baby mice. Ascertaining that I was indeed Danny's wife, he thrust his bundle into my hands, and still baffled said, "Your husband said for you to take care of these." I was speechless, an admittedly infrequent occurrence. What did I know about tiny baby mice? I did my best, however, to keep them warm. I mixed milk and egg and tried to feed them, a drop at a time, succeeding only, I fear, in drowning the poor blind creatures. By the time Danny got off shift and came home, only one had survived. By morning, it too had succumbed to my clumsy ministrations. Our city-born and bred naivete was never more in evidence than on that early summer day in 1975.

Of course in each of these situations, the natural order of things was at work. The shell-dwelling creatures serve as dinner for the gulls and other avians in the area and the mice are meals for other predators, up to and including some species of avian.

But while the mice lived, they fought to survive and I like to think that the shell-dwelling sea creatures were relieved to once again be surrounded by life-sustaining salt water.

Looking out into the flower and vegetable gardens over the past week or so, I have been struck by the growth brought about by our recent abundant rains. How vibrant, colorful and aggressive all of creation has become in this wet spring weather. All of creation lives and all of creation celebrates life abundantly.

Even those things created for common purposes and those necessitated by our own disobedience are thriving in the warmth of the sun following the refreshing rainfall. Case in point, the noxious musk thistle weed plaguing so many this year to say nothing of the allergies that have beset nearly everyone. Some mornings the newsroom could be mistaken for the narthex of a neighborhood church with all of the "bless yous" shared between sufferers.

It seems to me that all that God has created celebrates the life given for as long as it lives and it stubbornly holds onto life, until time takes it inevitable toll, until the final breath is drawn, the final heartbeat sounded.

Even the majestic trees celebrate, reaching tall branches closer and closer to the life-giving warmth of the sun. Even when old age has dried up all but one large branch, that one branch resolutely sets its sights on the sun, sending nutrients to its terminal trunk, all the while singing, "Live. Grow. Be."

I suppose this celebration of life is the most attractive of all the attributes of Christianity. Redeeming those utterly lost to the predator enemy, the Son of God affirms God's most courageous creation, man, and grants us -- unworthy, sometimes sickening little self-dwelling creatures -- everlasting life.

"The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice.

"Clouds and thick darkness surround him; righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne;

"Fire goes before him and consumes his foes on every side.

"His lightning lights up the world; the earth sees and trembles/

"The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,

"Before the Lord of all the earth.

"The heavens proclaim his righteousness,

"and all peoples see his glory."

Psalm 97:1-6 (NIV)

-- Dawn Cribbs and her husband still prefer to "err on the side of mercy" even if it does make them appear to be somewhat sappy.