For the Beauty of the Earth

 

 

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything. ~ William Shakespeare

 

All over the world today, people are celebrating Earth Day.

What began in 1970 as an American grassroots conservation movement led by Senator Gaylord Nelson has now become an international holiday celebrated by over a billion people (so sayeth The Writers Almanac). Several years earlier, a scientist named Rachel Carson wrote a book called Silent Spring, exposing the danger of pesticides and other regularly-used pollutants on the planet. I read Silent Spring my junior year at Clemson University, and wrote a paper on it for my one of my communications classes. My professor liked it so much, he suggested I submit it to an academic journal.

I never did–I barely knew what an academic journal was back then, let alone how wonderful it would’ve been for my future teaching career to have something published in one–but his enthusiasm and support of my writing and my positions in the paper was powerful.

I’ve always been a natural conservationist. You can’t be raised outside, freely roaming the mountains and creeks and your own neighborhood, without something like that happening. Early on I felt a wonder about nature, about plants and animals and the earth, that I’ve never shaken. I truly believe–in my physical and spiritual consciousness–that taking care of the planet, and all that means, is part of walking through this life with faith, honor, and hope. It’s so easy to do otherwise, isn’t it? Certainly, I don’t always get it right.

But I firmly believe that it’s all connected; that we’re all connected. That nature is ever-cyclical, and that heaven watches.

On this Earth Day, why don’t we all–wherever we are–take a moment to breathe. To look up at the stars or the sky. To admire the azaleas blooming fuchsia. To touch a leaf, plant a garden, buy a plant, petition for more greenways. To watch your kids, and how they interact with the Earth–how to them, a line of ants is so utterly cool. To acknowledge that we’re part of it all.

Lastly, in honor of Earth Day, some quotations from those who’ve said it much better than I:

“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”  ~ John Muir, 1913

“Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them.”  ~ Bill Vaughn, 1987

“Humankind has not woven the web of life.  We are but one thread within it.  Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.  All things are bound together.  All things connect.”  ~ Chief Seattle, 1855

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more.
~ George Gordon, Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

“Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realise we cannot eat money.”  ~ Cree Indian Proverb

“There is a great need for the introduction of new values in our society, where bigger is not necessarily better, where slower can be faster, and where less can be more.” ~ Gaylord Nelson

“There would be very little point in my exhausting myself and other conservationist themselves in trying to protect animals and habitats if we weren’t at the same time raising young people to be better stewards.” ~ Dr. Jane Goodall

“I had assumed that the Earth, the spirit of the Earth, noticed exceptions — those who wantonly damage it and those who do not. But the Earth is wise. It has given itself into the keeping of all, and all are therefore accountable.” ~ Alice Walker

“The ultimate test of man’s conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard.” ~ Gaylord Nelson

For the beauty of the earth,
For the glory of the skies;
For the love which from our birth,
Over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the wonder of each hour,
Of the day and of the night;
Hill and vale and tree and flow’r,
Sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise.

~ Folliott S. Pierpont, 1864

A Christmas Wish

Recently my publisher asked me to write a guest post for their blog. It’s up today, and it’s called “A Christmas Wish.” I’m reposting here for those interested.

This was a tough blog post to write. I’ve known for a while that the deadline was coming up, but honestly, had the worst time writing it. After the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School, I have felt like nothing I say holds significance. How, I asked myself, can I write about Christmas, when my heart feels like a leaden balloon in my chest? The pain that those parents and loved ones are suffering–and will continue to suffer–is unimaginable. I’ve thought of not much else these past days but fervent hope for their peace and ease.

My friend, the writer Kimberly Brock, and I talked about this. She, too, was asked to do a guest post earlier this week. Both of us had an admittably hard time writing. Hers is here; I think she does a great job addressing the mystery that surrounds this time of year.

But if there’s a time of year meant for hope, a time meant for magic and for the promise of Light, it’s this season.

So here’s my post. It’s nothing special, just childhood memories and a wish. I hope you enjoy it.

 

A Christmas Wish


Christmas magic.

It’s something—a feeling, a spirit, a hope—that I’ve searched for, and inevitably found, every December since I was a child.

When I was very young, my parents made the magic. They filled our house with Christmas cheer: Johnny Mathis, John Denver and Bing Crosby on the record player and then the stereo; a house festooned with garland, candles and poinsettias; the everyday china exchanged for plates and mugs and bowls of Cuthbertson Christmas china; the lighting of the Advent calendar; the mistletoe hanging from the light fixture in the foyer; and the enormous Virginia pine Christmas tree. Today, that tree is a Fraser Fir, but it’s still brilliantly lit with bubble lights and adorned with mine and my sister’s hand-made ornaments, along with a precious few that have been in my father’s family since the turn of the century. It stands next to an enormous real-wood fireplace, red, crocheted stockings hung at the fat wooden mantel, just waiting for Santa Claus. To this day, my sister’s and my stockings are stretched inches longer than any of the others from years of being stuffed to the brim with goodies.

On Christmas Eve we’d head to church for the United Methodist celebration of the Moravian Love Feast. We’d sing Christmas carols, convene with friends, and hold our candles aloft as the entire sanctuary sang “Silent Night.” I loved standing on the pew bench with my family, holding my candle high and watching the glow on the faces around me. After, we’d head home for Christmas Eve supper with my aunt’s family and our best family friends: a tradition we still keep to this day. That very night, Santa would call the house, and all the kids would line up to hear just where his sleigh was at that very moment (usually over the Atlantic Ocean, Rudolph lighting the way through the fog).

Sheer magic.

Now, as an adult with a writing and teaching career, a family (including a husband, a dog, a three year-old daughter and a baby on the way), it takes a concerted effort to create that Christmas magic. I have to look for it—to make it happen, because I want my daughter to grow up as I was so lucky to: feeling that every day of December holds promise and magic.

I want her to be able—as I did as a child, a teenager, and still do—to stand outside in the dark of a cold Christmas Eve, and to look up at that mysterious sky with wonder and hope. I want her to feel in her bones a peace like no other. That is my most fervent Christmas wish, this year of all years. I wish it for all of us—for the community of Newtown, Connecticut, for all the world, for my family and for yours.

Tonight and every night, may we sleep in heavenly peace.