Even in the midst of a sprawling suburbia, you can find a place of rest and within the busy traffic of society one can stubble across a chapel of quiet. I have found such a place. It is just a short bike ride away, a piece of land that lies next to a Michigan highway. As I walk into the overgrown pasture the traffic noise begins to fade into a distant whisper, and replacing it is the loud chorus of cicadas typical this time of year. It is this time of year when the summer’s heat begins to run into the cool winter. Autumn in Michigan is my favorite time of year. Although it is fall when everything begins to die, the end of summer marks the time when all of nature seems to erupt with life. The birds seem to be thrilled as the trees provide a buffet of all sorts of fruit. The forest floor is covered with color, among the lush golden rod you can also make out hints of color from the purple thistle and elegant pearl from the Queen Anne’s lace. The air has a certain cool to it, but the sun is still radiating heat that could cause any forehead begin to sweat.

I have decided to make my seat within the thick of the golden rod. As I sit, the show begins. This is a show unlike any other as it is one that entertains every sense of the body and more. My eyes are first captured by the elegance, and playful spirit of the Monarch butterfly. It is as I begin to put the camera to my face that I realize what this gracious lady is doing. She is not calling attention to herself (though she certainly has the right to with the beauty which she possesses) but she seems to be ushering me into the beauty of the Creator. My eyes leave her and are soon captured by her brother mantis. The mantis, also known as the praying mantis, seems to be the preacher in this church that I have stumbled across today. Although he is a bug, one of those “creepy things” that are referred to in the Creation story, he is not buggy by any means, in fact, he seems to be clothed with ornate clerical garments that rival even those who dwell near St. Peter’s Basilica. His homily today is titled “A life of Prayer”. I sit back and take in the Word that is given to me today. While brother mantis does not utter a word, his sermon speaks to me in a special way.

My heart is soon grabbed by another. It is my friend, the Honey Bee that frantically flies by my head and desperately gathers pollen from the golden rod nearby. While brother mantis was fascinated with my presence turning his head to meet my eyes with his, my friend the Honey Bee seems to ignore me altogether. Although pollen weighs him down and is already attached to every appendage he has, this busy harvester takes more and more, with such urgency that he seems to know the exact hour winter will arrive. It is before I even have a chance to greet my friend that he is gone and on to another plant out of sight.

As my eyes fall to the ground with disappointment, I spot a gift. It is a delicate wild strawberry hidden under the thick foliage of gold. It is small enough that it should have been overlooked, it should have stayed on the plant and rotted, but for some reason I found it today. As I pick the berry off its plant that nurtured it for weeks, I am reminded of God’s grace. The gentle fruit explodes in my mouth and a sweet flavor fills my taste buds. Perhaps this berry’s entire identity has been around being enjoyed by me some day, but I think it had one greater all along, giving glory to God, and out of its grace it has allowed me to be a part of it.

While my head often drops with the sorrow of the world,
It is you O Lord who has given gifts that nourish me.
As I am overwhelmed with sadness, it is your fruit O God that explodes taste into my dull senses.