Great and small
November 8, 2011 (Tuesday)
Yesterday I walked at the beach. I sort of followed the plan laid out by a dear friend. I parked at the end of the beach road by the pavilions, then walked out on the pier and back, by the edge of the water on a seawall, then back across the concrete parking lot to the street that loops around the nesting grounds, one more trip on the seawall and back to the car. The time for that walk was almost exactly the same as the walk on the path at Memorial Park. I got in my car and drove back down the beach road, very slowly per the limit, and I saw a sad sight on the way, just the other side of the boat ramps: a huge, but dead, Brown Pelican. The sight of that magnificent bird lying there in the grass filled me with sadness.
I had similar — albeit deeper and sadder — emotions a couple of weeks ago when our beautiful cat, Spooky, suddenly became very ill and died a painful death. She wasn’t really my cat. She was Dwight’s cat, and he dearly loved her. He rescued her and gave her a home five and a half years ago, faithfully caring for her. He was the only person she would allow herself to get close to. He dutifully cared for her and his surviving cat, Pepper.
Animals — even wild animals like the pelican I saw — are living creatures who have a right to live. They all make their contributions to our world, and sometimes directly to our lives. Those who allow themselves to love animals invite possible grief into their lives, because their life spans are usually not as long as that of humans. Though they live relatively short lives, they bring joy of many kinds to people.
In his teaching about God’s love for us, Jesus reminded us that God cares about nature, clothing the fields and feeding the birds, and that not one sparrow falls to the ground without his notice. That lesson comes home when death invades our ranks and takes a life from us, human or animal.