Gratitude Monday: Unasked and unlooked for

On my Sunday morning exercise circuits, I like to add in walking the labyrinth at what I refer to as the Triune Church(es) of the Valley They Call Silicon.

  

Dunno whether the rock-lined Cretan-style labyrinth was an ecumenical project, or whether the Methodists, the Lutherans or the, uh, Very Gooders took point, but I’m glad it’s there.

(It’s kind of interesting to me that they didn’t follow the Chartres style, but this one is a lot easier to install, I’m guessing. Also, perhaps there was disagreement amongst the three congregations as to whether cruciform represented something too close to Papacy and this was determined to be non-denominational and therefore acceptable to all.)

Breaking my brisk pace to follow the mini-pilgrim path is both a physical and metaphorical pulling away for me. I turn off my pod and just walk the path in brain-neutral, instead of my usual mental speed-hopping. Yesterday I was focusing on a part of a prayer I’ve been practicing for a few days, on graces that have come “unasked and unlooked for” in my life.

There are a lot of those, of course, but a lot of the time I’m just not paying attention. So I was focusing on being open to them: to seeing them and hearing them when they appear, even unasked or unlooked for.

Well, as I was approaching one of the turns, I heard the unmistakable honking of Canada geese, and at the turn I looked up to watch a V-formation of maybe 15 of them flying fairly low overhead in front of me. As they passed from left to right, I heard a couple of honks off to the left, behind a tree. “Poky little gosling,” I thought (interrupting my meditative focus, to be sure). And then there appeared a much smaller formation—perhaps half as many—just flapping and honking, like they were doing their very-goose-best to catch up.

It was so quiet in the pre-0700 Sunday air, and they were so low, that I realized I could hear their wings beating. I’ve never heard that before, that whap-whap-whap-whap sound, multiplied by seven or eight sets of wings.

What a joyful thing—completely unexpected, and in the normal course of life around here, mostly impossible. The quiet around me, the quiet in myself, the initial squadron alerting me to their presence and the low formation of the hurry-uppers all came together to give me those beautiful moments, before everything returned to “normal”.

Now, I do not ordinarily find Canada geese charming. They’re an invasive species, taking over whatever environment they settle into, and you do not ever want them congregating anywhere you need to be walking or playing. (The phrase “crap through a goose” doesn’t even begin to approach the enormity of their output.)

But yesterday I was extremely grateful that they appeared so serendipitously, unasked and unlooked for, preparing me for the week ahead.