Kathi and I often have lunch in a park that’s located in an area, which is not far from where we work. One day during the May monsoon of 2015, a curious break in the precipitation occurred during one of these luncheon interludes, which offered a short opportunity that the birds and squirrels quickly took advantage of.

Feeling sorry for the critters, Kathi threw out a few scraps of bread. Typically, the birds battle it out for precedence over the handout. However, on this occasion, in the midst of the ornithological onslaught, a squirrel fought its way in and grabbed a tidbit of the soggy bread. The squirrel immediately jumped onto a wooden pole just in front of the car, where he began to eat his procured morsel, as if, in order to honor his benefactors, he chose to dine with us within the bird battlefield, rather than retreating to higher ground.

Afterward, the weekend, now seemingly cemented in routine, came and went rather quickly. Sunday afternoon, after church, and after staring through the window at the steady rain, I step into the office to get a bit of writing done. However, as often is the case, my mind refuses to cooperate, and my hopes of diving into the world of Detective Elliot are dashed. I begin to go bonkers. I’m the type of person, who has to have something to do; all the time. This can be a good thing, but it hardly ever seems that way. I should envy those people who enjoy sitting on the couch for hours completely submersed in some television program, but I don’t. I cannot even begin to understand it. Even the thought of it drives me up the wall. But nothing else comes to mind, so I decide to give it a try.

Have you noticed that most reality programs concentrate more on personal problems between the participants than they do on what the show is supposed to be about? I love cars. I always have. When I decide to watch a program that’s supposed to be about cars, I want to see the cars, and not worry over Joe Blow getting the wrong part and missing some trumped up, artificial deadline.

And what is it with all the prescription medicine commercials? Aren’t commercials designed to convince us to buy stuff? And shouldn’t doctors be making those decisions?

I switch off the television and begin to make laps around the kitchen and dining room. The rain continues. It’s commonly believed that the amount of water on earth never changes, but gets recycled, moved around in some way. The water you drink today could have been swallowed by dinosaurs millions of years ago. I do not find this thought pleasing. However, if that is the case, it stands to reason that if one area is experiencing too much water, then other places are dealing with too little. I pray for balance, not for the rain to end, but for it to move on to areas where it is needed.

I think back to the squirrel, and how his attention seemed to be completely trained on eating his lunch. Of course I cannot know what was going on inside his furry, little head, but I imagine it all revolved around the bread. That would make a good line in a poem. I don’t think the squirrel was concerned about what had happened yesterday, and I doubt he was worried about what might happen tomorrow.

God does work in mysterious ways. Through the squirrel, he reminded me that life does not have to be complicated. Throughout the New Testament of the Bible, Jesus often makes this point, for those who have eyes to see, and ears to listen.