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The
splendor of God's creation
PRAISED BE JESUS
CHRIST!
(Now and Forever)
The last week of July and the first week of August found me in northern
California. Nothing seems to recharge my battery more effectively than
vacation time with family. It had been a year, so I was ready. The older
of my two sisters (younger than me by 4½ years) lives in Sonoma County,
California. My youngest sister is a Floridian. Spending time with
family, whether it’s California or Florida, has always been special for
me.
My two sisters and I are the products of a nuclear family. That, of
course, once was normative. Our mother, as most married women of that
time, was a full-time homemaker. Dad was the sole breadwinner, blessed
in holding down a job throughout the Great Depression of the 1930s.
There is a span of seven years between me and my youngest sister. Mom
lost two babies before my sisters came along. Miscarriages were not
referred to as fetuses. They were babies. Our father lived to see me
ordained a priest and proudly walked my two sisters to the altar when
they were married. He died at the age of 59. Mom was a widow for 25
years. My California sister has five grandchildren. My “baby sister” has
23 grandchildren. Family get-togethers are rare moments and always
greatly anticipated.
Among the many systematic changes of my lifetime, the ability to travel
far and wide in a matter of hours has to be one of the big ones.
Adventure as well as necessity have always prompted people to travel.
However, my myopic experience suggests that prior to the post-World War
II years, travel was limited. It was common for people to live and die
in the place of their birth. My family didn’t own a car until I went to
college in 1950. A benevolent employer allowed my father to use a
company pick-up truck for short in-town trips. That’s how we got to
church. Rare out-of-town trips meant borrowing an aunt’s car. We stuck
close to home. Most of the people we knew did as well. When it comes to
travel, times have changed.
The locals refer to Sonoma County, California, as wine country. While
our open spaces are full of corn and soybeans, theirs are crowded with
vineyards.
My sister lives some 30 miles from the ocean. It rarely rains from late
April until October. Humidity-free days in the high 80s and mid 90s give
way at night to fog and jacket temperatures. The fog is like a giant
air-conditioning system. Windows open at night are kept closed during
the day. Irrigation is required. But, with that as a given, people seem
to pride themselves in yards filled with flowers: roses, begonias,
hydrangeas, fuchsia, with a variety of flowering trees and bushes. It’s
spectacular, providing a great environment for long walks. Once out of
town, vineyards stretch up hillsides and through picturesque valleys.
Not to be overlooked, of course, are giant redwoods.
A visit to San Francisco is worth the effort. Determination to walk
across the Golden Gate Bridge was hijacked by high winds and heavy fog.
Another day, perhaps. I’ve done it. Walking the bridge on a clear day
provides magnificent views of “the city,” as the locals refer to the
City of St. Francis. Interestingly, the population of San Francisco is
less than that of Indianapolis. Location makes all the difference.
The drive from the wine country east to Lake Tahoe offers a study in
California topography. Even though the Golden Hills are in reality hills
covered with dead grass, they have always fascinated me. It doesn’t take
long for the hills of Sonoma and Napa to give way to the flat lands of
the Sacramento Valley. A few miles east of Sacramento, the ascent to the
Sierra Nevada Mountains begins: 1,000 feet, 2,000 feet, up to more than
7,000 feet. Our route to Lake Tahoe took us over Echo Summit, which tops
off at 7,382 feet above sea level.
Lake Tahoe is a marvel unto itself, with a shoreline of 72 miles and
crystal clear water. The recent Angora fire was disaster to people who
lost their homes, but did no apparent damage to the lake. Emerald Bay
(part of Lake Tahoe) is worth a major detour. I once looked down on a
rainbow over Emerald Bay. Tahoe is an alpine wonder.
A highlight of vacation with family is daily Mass. The opening prayer
for the 16th week in Ordinary Time provided a context for all the
natural beauty that I found so captivating: “God our Father, open our
eyes to see your hand at work in the splendor of creation, and the
beauty of human life. Touched by your hand our world is holy. Help us to
cherish that which surrounds us, to share your blessings with our
brothers and sisters, and to experience the joy of life in your
presence.”
The school year is well under way. Labor Day is history. The days are
growing shorter. Summer is slipping into fall.
The marvels of God’s creation surround us. Perhaps it takes travel to
open eyes to the splendor of it all.
Indiana is not California. Yet, it offers its own fascination. When my
family comes east, they experience things I take for granted; they
marvel at such things as warm evenings, un-fenced open yards, summer
thunderstorms, the hum of katydids. When I go west, my eyes pop where
theirs, with few exceptions, don’t see anything exceptional.
My recent trip has led me to resolve to open my eyes to the splendor
that surrounds me every day and to praise God for those marvels. We are
invited to do so at every Mass, when each of us is urged to join our
voice to that of the faith community to which we are bonded by baptism:
“Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might. Heaven and earth are
full of your glory.”
It’s so true. Wherever we live, we simply have to let ourselves become
aware of the splendor of God’s creation. |
