Dam It

The other day in a used book store I discovered a book from the 1940s (in a section marked "Eccentricities and Metaphysicals," I'll have you know) entitled Prayers from the Ark and The Creatures' Choir. Written by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold and translated from the French, it is a compendium of two volumes of prayers to God by animals. Some are imagined, as the title suggests, as if the animals were on the ark, and some are just general prayers of love, petition, expiation, adoration, and thanksgiving by camels, gnats, oysters, and bees.



I know, right? How could I not buy this book?

Initially I imagined snuggling up next to my quirky, curious little daughter and reading it in lieu of her Children's Bible-- because she gets to pick the stories, and she has an unhealthy fascination with the plagues in Egypt and the beheading of John the Baptist-- but I've continued in reading these poems on my own time, because they're lyrical and funny and always unexpected.

Here is my current favorite:

The Beaver

To build,
Lord,
that is a vocation!
I speak of my passion,
architecture.
Of course,
one should build on a rock,
but what fillip is there
in doing anything easy?
My element
is to struggle--
it is water that allures--
and tell me
to build a safe and steady house
on the moving stream
of a river--
moving as life does, swiftly--
what an adventure!
With patience and ingenuity
one can do anything.
But I am one
who loves to swim against the current,
to build
something lasting--
and all my own work--
at the very core of life.
Oh yes, Lord,
if You would give me
some of Your living water,
I would build
Your paradise for you.

These are the words of a beaver, ladies and gentleman. At first, the notion tickles, then amuses, but let's not forget the central role played by Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in the Narnia Chronicles. There is something decidedly Christ-like about a creature determined to make the most unlikely of habitats its permanent home. These industrious little animals, using only their teeth and forepaws, take rocks, mud, and wood to build protection against predators and ensure easy access to food. Beaver dams also provide secondary benefits to wetlands, salmon, songbirds, and frogs and toads. If there was ever a metaphor for Christ's sizable challenge in setting up shop in the human heart to realize The Kingdom here on earth, it would probably be trying to build a house in an onslaught of muddy waters. But beavers do it, and Christ does, too.


Holy crap-- is that not the cutest thing you've ever seen?

The thing that gets me about this poem-- where it really hits me-- is in the role of "doing" in the beaver's sense of vocation. For me, that translates to service. How else can we help the kingdom come? It's maybe fun to read and write and think about nerdy things, but in the end (to borrow from the great Joni Mitchell) that's just ice cream castles in the air. If we're to believe that the ice cream belongs here in God's creation-- see this article in Time magazine to find out more-- then we must have a constant, fervent, inspired, loving desire to WORK for that every single day. To work with and for others, in whatever circumstances we find them, however difficult or inconveniencing it is. It's our job. It's our vocation, and what a beautiful and humbling one to have.

I'm looking down the barrel of a surgery in October that will have me laid up for a couple of months. This is happening at a time in my life when I've never been more on fire to do God's work in the world, however God would have me do that. Instead, I'm having to cool my jets and pass on possibilities and think about how best to wall myself up, Anchoress style- how make it easiest on my husband and my children and the people who will have to step in when I take to my bed for 6-8 weeks.

I hate this.

It occurred to me while telling one of my priests about the surgery (in an e-mail explaining why I can't help with some of the tasks with which I so desperately want to help) that this might be why the Lord's been nudging me towards St. Ignatius lately. To show me that there is another way to stay close and to glorify God, even from my bed.

In my heart I know I should embrace this, but I rail against it. I was working to set aside time in the family fall schedule to take on some of the Ignatian prayer practices that can be so helpful in discerning God's will, but this was supposed to happen in concert with the church and community service I was lining up. As an ingredient in the recipe, not the whole kit and kaboodle.

I tried to comfort myself by finding some sort of soothing prayer in the BCP's section on Ministration to the Sick, but what stood out to me was this:

Before an Operation

Strengthen your servant N. O God, to do what she has to do and bear what she has to bear; that, accepting your healing gifts through the skills of surgeons and nurses, she may be restored to usefulness in your world with a thankful heart; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

"That...she may be restored to usefulness." Because, as the author of this prayer presupposes, I'll be useless after the operation. I have many, many treasured collects and prayers in the BCP, but this sure as hell isn't one of them. It's BS.

Here's a prayer: Dear Lord, please don't let this operation, and the time spent recuperating, make me a useless part of your creation. Help me to deepen in my prayer life and my understanding of Scripture so that, when returned to normal life, I may be a better instrument of your peace and love.

It's not as pretty, but at least I can pray it. I suppose I'll ultimately take my cues from the beaver on this one, who doggedly rebuilds a dam no matter how severely it's been damaged. The beaver finds a way to make it work.

I only wish it didn't feel so passive.