It was a still morning on the bay. Pigeon guillemots and tilting gulls stirred the water. Then——what was that strange movement? I climbed onto the back deck to watch, phone in hand.

Dear bald eagle: she rowed her feathered boat, along with the taloned fish beneath her, all the way from the middle of the bay to that distant rock. I have seen this before: the soaring eagle now an awkward water spider straining toward shore.

But I might have missed it. I know I have missed so much life around me. Because maybe I am like you, and like so many others: I work a lot.

A lot. I know many of you do too.

Our work week spills into the evenings. Into the weekends. Into our vacations. We’re trying to pay our bills. We’re trying to outrun inflation. We want good schools for our kids. We need our business to succeed. We want to be secure in our retirement. We need to pay off our medical bills. We want to travel. We want . . . we need . . . .And if we’re people of faith, maybe we’re doing it all for the Lord, so it all feels holy and worthy and proverbs-y (Pro. 13:4 – “The soul of the lazy man desires, and has nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall be made rich.” [See? It’s confusing.])

But I know what can happen when we work. Wherever it is, our heads bend low. Our necks are crook’d. Our eyes look down. (And even in “play,” our eyes lock down on hand-held screens.)

This week, on my island, I might have missed all this: (But my grandkids didn’t let me . ..)

((((Here’s what Alice Walker’s character says about passing by a purple flower in a fields . … ““I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it. People think pleasing God is all God cares about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.” ― Alice Walker, The Color Purple)))

We work and wander and can find no rest.

It must have been so for King David too. Though he had a whole nation to run, he broke free from the palace often, I believe. He wrote and sang Psalms about the hyrax, the donkeys, the birds (and us):

You make springs pour water into the ravines,
    so streams gush down from the mountains.
11 They provide water for all the animals,
    and the wild donkeys quench their thirst.
12 The birds nest beside the streams
    and sing among the branches of the trees.
13 You send rain on the mountains from your heavenly home,
    and you fill the earth with the fruit of your labor.
14 You cause grass to grow for the livestock
    and plants for people to use.
You allow them to produce food from the earth—
15     wine to make them glad,
olive oil to soothe their skin,
    and bread to give them strength.

(Psalm 104)

King David wrote several extraordinary Creation psalms. He marveled at the stars, the run of the sun each day, the rivers’ tumble toward the sea. Marveled that we—-little us!—-are given a place of honor in a world where every inch and acre claps, shouts, sings, whispers, declares the care, the love and the nearness of its Maker.

This Maker of ours is not hidden. He wants to be known. He wants his love for us to be known. It’s all around us. Can you see it?

So put down your work. Go read the whole of Psalm 104. Then go outside. Walk the beach, watch the ravens, wonder at the night’s chandeliers overhead.

Do you know, God is lighting those candles every night for us to find our way home?

Ahhh, dear friends, How good to be here with you again! (I have SO missed you here!)

Would you share one moment this summer when you caught a glimpse of God through his Creation?