Cows and Katydids
So much has happened to Dayton this summer, and one worshiper at the Wednesday worship services confided that so much tragedy, and thinking of all of the horror, has been overwhelming. Sometimes we need to take a short break and do something that refreshes us.
So last week I went to the county fair to see the cows. I especially wanted to see the Grand Champion. And he was worth it! The Grand Champion was truly a wondrous sight, majestic in his own, very un-regal, way. I gave him a kiss on the forehead, much to his embarrassment.
I love cows. I love the lazy flick of their tails that belie their strength, their deep piercing eyes, and the fact that as beautiful as they are, they will never make great household pets. Then I go home and pet my cats.
The county fair is a celebration of earthly abundance. Cows, sheep, and pigs vie for the honor of most perfect cow shape, or sheep shape, or pig shape. In other tents, proud folk vie for prizes for the biggest zucchini and biggest pumpkin.
I go to the fair to see what amazing things people can do on their plots of land. I do not have cows; I have cats. My zucchini plant rotted after I had picked the first zucchini. My vegetable garden consisted of One Zucchini.
For the earthly abundance around my house, I give all credit to God: The bugs are flourishing. I can hear them when evening comes. Chirps, rattles, and beeps explode from the midst of every tree. There must be gazillions of these creatures hiding in the trees.
As summer wears on, displays of God’s creative abundance keep beckoning for our attention. The bugs continue to sound like an audio track of jungle sounds. Hillsides drape themselves in lush neon green. Massive thunderstorms bring massive raindrops that look like little dancing men on the street.
In the fullness of summer, I can see God’s glory everywhere, but especially in the trees—and at the county fair where humans bring that glory all together into one big tent.
The Rev. Joanna Leiserson+