God's world is beautiful.
There are no words in the English language to describe the vast depth and breadth of the wondrous earth he has placed us in.
Even when we fallen men reshape, hew down, and blot out the trees, grass, earth, and small waters, their infallible and constant return reminds us that though we are stewards of this delicate sphere, we can never for a moment think that we can harness or control the forces our Lord has put in place. I am reminded of this tonight, sitting in my dorm at college in the middle of a tired old town. Even though many consider it to be a small dot on the map, even this town has stained the sky and interrupted the gentle song the wind sings in the branches of the trees. My sorrow at being in an environment of brick, cement, vehicles, and foul air has grown of late. I--so accustomed to a place of trees, fields, and strong clean wind--have begun to see the beginnings of the new season; winter's cold fist is relinquishing it's hold on the latch to the gate of spring. We mortal men cannot tell him to depart or pry his claws from their hold; no, Winter waits for his Maker's command. Soon, the snow will depart from us, and all things of green and gold will embrace our eyes once again. This permanence, this ever-flowing order of renewal, is lovely in all ways. The Nile still runs toward the north; a blade of grass can push through a crack in cement; the clouds ever reel overhead; waves upon the shore continue their dance.
We can mar it.
We can choke it.
We can shape it.
But we can never fully destroy it unless God allows it to be.
The idea that we are stewards has been taken to mean that we are masters. This is in no wise a truth; such arrogance our weak and vain race has to think that we can trammel the things God has ordained to be in order.
This is not to say that I believe we ought to resort to wielding sticks and wearing cloth made of fallen leaves; on the contrary, we have innovation and ought to employ it.
Neither do I mean to imply that we are entirely bad shepherds, or are wicked because we assume the role of the keepers and cultivaters of the earth--it is out duty. Genesis 2:15 "Then the Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to tend and keep it."
If you look in chapter 3 of the same book, you will see the Lord passing judgement upon the serpent and Eve, and finally Adam, who he tells that he will "toil" and "sweat" in his labor upon the earth, ever straining with and against it.
Finally, this train of thought does not mean in any way that I am turning into one of those soft-palmed numb-skulled tree-hugging imbeciles we have been beset by in these modern times
---(Side Note: Did you ever wonder if there were tree-hugging hippie-types in Ancient Rome, Anglo-Saxon England, etc? I can see the Vikings being very baffled upon meeting their first treehugger.)---
No, I am not becoming this. I was merely struck by the thought tonight as I trudged back toward my room tonight, staring wide-eyed at the stars as they reeled overhead in the heavens. There I stood--cold cement beneath my feet, red brick buildings forming a tasteless labyrinth around me, pools of sallow light seeping down from buzzing streetlamps-- gazing at the pure gems on the mantle of heaven far, far above all of this mire. The contrast between craftsmanship of Man and the craftsmanship of God sears to the heart.
I am blessed to be given a place on this Earth. Such beauty. Such anticipation. Such work yet to do.
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Now, onto less rapturous things.
Like the month of April.
It really is the cruelest month.
Especially for a college student with two massive chairs, two footstools, and 3 other courses to do battle with in the next two weeks. Wood needs to be purchased and transported--I have no car up here right now. Time to mooch a ride with a minivan-driving student. Like my dear Da' always says, "When you drive a minivan at college, it doesn't matter of you're Republican or Democrat; as soon as you arrive on campus with that people-mover, you become a Socialist."
Panic. I keep trying to grin it down, but my mask is beginning to crack on the edges. Time to put it in 5th gear.
Ah well. I definitely have a full plate, and I jolly well have to deal with it. Whatever the cost (quite literally. Have you priced out wood in the past decade?! Oy. My poor little wallet.)
Coffee, music, and All-Nighters shall be my weapons and armor in the coming battle against the mighty foe named Time.
Alma College: prepare for battle. No cheap shots.
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Something I have recently noticed:
I have gone into Jack Aubrey mode. It is a mood and mindset that befalls me from time to time. It is not all that bad.
What it looks like on the inside: Stubborn, leonine, a little brisk, and no welcome harbor for things petty or off-topic. Pride easily wounded, temper a little closer to the surface, and tolerance for things squirrelly, scattered, or disrespectful at a bare minimum.
What it looks like on the outside: Nautical. I don't know why, but when I am in this mood, I start wearing more clothing that is reminiscent of the navy during the Napoleonic wars; tall boots, white shirts, a coat or jacket with buttons or squared shoulders. I really don't know why; it just suits my mood. In the summer, this physical appearance is not as marked due to the good weather.
Also, I make more eye contact, walk with longer strides, and go about things with a rather marked purpose.
Frightening, no?
Honestly, I'm watching myself in this state with mild amusement. What a growling thundercloud of a Captain I can be sometimes.
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Yours truly,
The Captain
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