The Bench

The bench isn’t much to look at.
Like most of my building projects, it’s a bit off kilter but solid.
Made with pressure treated lumber, it should last for years, certainly not forever. Nothing made by humans does.
I carried it on my trailer to one of the deep ravines on Roaring Creek Farm and placed it among the towering pines and hardwoods.
It’s quiet there.
The gurgling water of a gently flowing creek soothes. Birds sing their ancient songs.
It’s a place to listen to God.
If you believe the Old Testament stories, God was much more direct during those times.
The word came through a burning bush or spoken by an archangel or directly from God.
Abraham, Moses, David and the other chosen ones must have trembled at the sound.
God speaks in a quieter voice now.
You can hear it in this cathedral in the woods. Divining the meaning isn’t always simple.
Jesus taught in such places, on hillsides and in farmers’ fields.
He didn’t need multimillion-dollar edifices to inspire or million-dollar pipe organs to create a heavenly sound.
We’ve gotten it all wrong. His message was delivered simply:
Feed the hungry, visit the sick, welcome the stranger, love your neighbor.
Hurricane Michael left many of the trees on Roaring Creek Farm twisted and broken.
The bench on the side of the ravine survived amid the fallen trunks and branches.
The creek and the birds still sing their songs. God still speaks, quietly, subtly.
You only have to listen.