The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Today's church service was opened with this poem by Wendell Berry. When I heard, "the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief," I took notice. It seemed fitting. Maybe it's because I'm the oldest, but I often feel the need to protect and pull together those around me. Perhaps it's because of my tumultuous childhood. Unfortunately, my family is not good at communicating our thoughts and feelings, most of which I attribute to my mother's aggressive nature. When I realized my dad was going to have knee surgery again, it concerned me. Since he has had numerous surgeries on this knee, I am concerned that he is going to a doctor (up north in the sticks) whom he has never met and doesn't know his history. Of course he is an adult and must make his own decisions, but it doesn't keep me from wanting the best for him. I don't think he appreciated my suggestions: a) go home to his surgeon or b) ask his doctor to perhaps consult with new surgeon or c) at least call his surgeon, so he can help with rehab... Sometimes well meaning thoughts and wishes cause an emotional reaction. If only I could learn to live without worrying like the "wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief."
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Today's church service was opened with this poem by Wendell Berry. When I heard, "the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief," I took notice. It seemed fitting. Maybe it's because I'm the oldest, but I often feel the need to protect and pull together those around me. Perhaps it's because of my tumultuous childhood. Unfortunately, my family is not good at communicating our thoughts and feelings, most of which I attribute to my mother's aggressive nature. When I realized my dad was going to have knee surgery again, it concerned me. Since he has had numerous surgeries on this knee, I am concerned that he is going to a doctor (up north in the sticks) whom he has never met and doesn't know his history. Of course he is an adult and must make his own decisions, but it doesn't keep me from wanting the best for him. I don't think he appreciated my suggestions: a) go home to his surgeon or b) ask his doctor to perhaps consult with new surgeon or c) at least call his surgeon, so he can help with rehab... Sometimes well meaning thoughts and wishes cause an emotional reaction. If only I could learn to live without worrying like the "wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief."
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