…Actually, Sparrow is quite certain that pick-axes are far outdated in the event of mountain-climbing, and wholly unconvinced that rubber grip boots have ever had any part to play in the activity whatsoever. Whatever the case, she has lately found herself far from resilient when facing her duties. Oh, dear, quite the opposite: early this week she suffered through a bout of exhaustion, attempting a heroic plunge into her creativities and accomplishing only a dismal slog. Once she had slogged (slogged! Slogged emphatically, I say!) for a number of days, her energy suddenly made a roaring comeback. She rose! She laughed, spitefully, at the plagues of yesterday; and turning staunchly to the sunrise, vowed she would not see the end of the week unaccomplished.
But instead of increasing her productivity to glorious heights, as such strokes of energy are known to do, this one instead gave Sparrow into the throes of a curious plight. She found, much to her dismay, that the energy would not content itself with any one endeavor. Upon sitting down at her keyboard with the idea of polishing up a song, she felt the distinct urge to run downstairs and pound out more of her novel. Once situated for the latter task, she discovered a discontent that would not be fulfilled until she had returned upstairs and extracted the details of her mother’s activities in the kitchen. This completed and on her way back downstairs, she was suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity as to what sort of weather the day held, and toddled out to the porch to amend her ignorance. When satisfied, she returned to her novel, only to be greeted by a nagging guilt; thus, convicted of her sins and repentant in the extreme, she returned to the music she had abandoned, to shower upon it all the love and nurturing it deserved. However, she was not seated for long before she was caught in the throes of hunger, and traversed to the kitchen in order to devour the result of her mother’s exploits.
…So the day continued, and such was the productivity of Sparrow. She ended the day with a whopping few sentences of her novel rewritten, a bit of work done on a song recording which, in the end, was lost in a sudden departure of electrical power due to a thunderstorm, and plenty of exercise as she traipsed restlessly from one end of the house to the other. Oh, and a new post on her blog, which highlights her most recent (and despairingly unproductive) activity—that is, stargazing.
Unfortunately, the clouds have been too rampant in the evenings for her to properly look at the stars; but she has done the next best thing, if not the greater thing, because in so doing she has gone beyond the limits of what she could see by herself. Whenever she is feeling particularly small or full of longing, Sparrow is fond of curling up to flip through pages upon pages of photos taken by NASA, pictures of stars and galaxies far beyond our little world. It gives her shivers, looking into the blackness filled with stars beyond stars, and beauty, and loveliness. It feels as if she will fall right into the page, into the spaces between the stars, and fall forever. Which is a very small feeling indeed.
But Sparrow will not keep the feeling all to herself. Here, though only a little, is some of the beauty in which she has immersed her mind while remaining decidedly unaccomplished:
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It is to your own stargazing that Sparrow will leave you, because her heart is aching. The beautiful colors God must see, when he looks at the dust he has funneled into the galaxies, the colors and pillars and clouds and towers beyond her wildest imaginings. Sparrow knows how very tiny she is; oh! she knows. And as a tiny speck of dust in a universe through which she could fall forever, it breaks her to tears to know that she is dearly, tenderly loved—not falling, but held; sheltered in the affection of the One who sifts the stardust.
And so, at the end of this unproductive day - no, for the naughty thing has stayed up too late and it is now the beginning of tomorrow - Sparrow wishes you well. She herself shall fall asleep knowing that far beyond herself, the galaxies are spinning and sparkling and singing the awe of the one who gave them the colors only He can see. And perhaps, as she rests tonight, the song of the stardust will dance through her dreams.
2 missives:
Hey Sparrow - that's lovely. I too love star gazing and images from outer space. My favourite constellation is the Southern Cross - an image of the Lord's ultimate love splashed across the Southern Skies. I had this lovely set of pics as my desktop background a while ago. And last year I had a calendar with a different picture for each month. When I see images like this, I simply can't deny the presence of a divine creator. I don't think your day was completely wasted. Gazing at and revelling in the Lord's handy-work is good for us - and he probably enjoys us enjoying it. To think that he created all that beauty knowing that it would be millennia before anyone but he could see it. And we can't even imagine what other beauty is out there that our telescopes aren't powerful enough to see.
God Bless
Ajjie >'.'<
Oh, you sweet Hedgepickle, for pointing out the redeeming qualities of our stargazing. Indeed, I'm happy that you are of your opinion and do not believe my day to be a complete waste, for I must admit to delighting in being starstruck, whatever its effect on my creative endeavors.
And perhaps it is this feeling of smallness that I need, when I am feeling the worries and unhappiness of not having accomplished all that I meant to do. Because all my goals and worries, however consuming they may seem to me, are really not of such importance in the face of such infiniteness. Goodness, as if God isn't already glorified enough by the stars and the heavens alone, we act as though He is in need of our work, somehow.
And in the end:
Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain. In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat—for he grants sleep to those he loves. - Psalm 127:1-2
God does not need us; oh! the stars themselves speak for that. And still He somehow delights in our little strivings. Offerings, is what they are. Yet it is He who empowers them all.
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