My home is nestled in the hills of Tennessee. Each morning, I’m greeted with the sounds of creatures who have already begun the work of their day.
There is a blurry line though, it seems, between what those creatures determine to be their work and their sense of joy. The sounds that surround me are boisterous, melodious, and seemingly spontaneous — all serving as an accompanying track to the hard work of building nests, nurturing the soil, and securing nourishment. And while no human can truly distinguish the intent or meaning of these sounds, it seems reasonable to assume that whomever designed this universe deemed it necessary to deposit the sounds of contentment and joy in the midst of all that work.
I find hope in that.
These sounds are the companion to the messy, creative work of the world. And in this work, we all play a part — depositing something new into the world, leaving it with something that it didn’t have before. The rain creates the growth of new vegetation, the vegetation creates the nutrition for the birds, and the birds create the songs I listen to in the morning. We are all making deposits in the creation and joy of other things.
In my assessment of the world around us, the sounds we hear (if we stop to listen), remind us of these interwoven creations. Everything is making a deposit of song, life, and purpose into our place.
For me, that place is the hills of Tennessee, where each day the birds (and sometimes the rain) leave me with this reminder that my true (and simple) work is to enjoy the process of depositing my life into this place.
