Last night, before I went to sleep, I determined that today would be a productive one. The past few days, we have had a lot of rain in NYC, and it has gotten dark around 5 p.m. My dog has been bored from not having any good outside time, and I have been unmotivated to get things done. So last night, I made a list of things I would do today in order to feel more productive and in-control: take Jonah for an hour-long walk, clean my home, get some writing done, finish my homework, prepare for this Sunday’s worship, prepare for next weekend’s Women’s Retreat, learn four songs for a hospice care memorial service I am singing at next week, grocery shop, go to the post office to mail off some long-overdue packages, go to the library to pick up the item I have had on reserve, and maybe do my laundry.

Being unproductive makes me feel depressed, just as feeling depressed makes me less productive. In the past couple of weeks, since the start of fall, I have struggled with the blues. I come home at night and all I want to do is check out, turn off my brain, waste time, eat junky food that leaves me feeling sick, wash it down with a glass or two of wine (leaving me feeling worse yet), and then wake up the next morning full of regret for wasting several hours. This is not life to the fullest, and I know it.

Of course, all of life is not meant to be productive. I realize that there is a need, indeed a command, for holy recreation. But I am not talking about holy recreation, which is a gift from God and leaves me feeling refreshed and healthy. I am talking about depression – slight, though it may be – that causes me to just want to quit life and stay in bed or compulsively check my Facebook, Twitter and email accounts rather than do the things that actually make me feel fully alive. So last night, after a short season of wasting time, I took stock and made a plan.

In addition to my morning devotions, I am reading a couple of different books right now, two of which deal with the idea of hearing God. This morning I read a few pages of John Eldridge’s book, Walking With God. I am a fan of The Sacred Romance, Wild at Heart, Journey of Desire and Captivating, but it has been a while since I’ve read anything by this author. I forgot how down-to-earth he is, and it was pretty refreshing this morning to read about his struggle to listen for and hear God. After reading a bit, I took Jonah out; thankfully, after several days of rain and depressing gray skies, the sun was shining and the sky was gloriously blue.

We set out for Snug Harbor at a brisk pace; I’m trying to make up for the chocolate and popcorn I ate last night. For the first twenty minutes or so, I was so stuck inside my head that I barely noticed the incredible slide show facing me throughout this park: the leaves are every shade of yellow, orange, red and brown known to man. The sky was nigh cloudless and so blue it makes your heart sing. But I was missing it, staring at the ground, checking my watch (the goal was an hour of walking). I was not praying, I was not appreciating my surroundings, I was not thankful. I was just getting it done, so I could come home with a sense of accomplishment. Exercise? Check. I’m not ashamed to say that checking things off a list makes me feel good. It is how I get so much done. Nothing wrong with lists. Order is good.

But as I walked, something nudged my heart. I realized, slowly, that I could be having a completely different experience. I looked up and started to think-pray. I thought about my prayer lists and began to think-pray through them. There was no huge eruption of faith or longing, just a small thinking of my prayers toward God. Lord, I pray for all the people we are reaching out to in Little Sri Lanka. I pray for John and Rosy. I pray for Jeannine. By that time, I was on my third lap around the Lower Pond at Snug Harbor, my shoes covered in mud from the recent rains. Crunch, crunch, crunch went my feet on the gravely pathway that winds past the backside of the Chinese Scholar’s Garden, under the Great Willow Tree, whose branches hang to the ground over that section of the path. I was just walking, not feeling much, my little dog’s legs running beside me to keep pace with my calorie-burning stride.

Then, in an instant, everything about this morning changed. Something made me look to my left as I walked along, and there, staring at me about fifteen feet away, was the Blue Heron that lives at Snug Harbor.

I had never seen him up close. From a distance, yes, but never up close. And never standing a few feet away from me. I have seen him fly, I have seen him sitting up in a tree. But I have never seen him like this.

He stood waist-high on two legs that looked like sticks too thin for Jonah to even want to chase, and he stared at me as I stared at him. I expected him to take flight immediately, but he didn’t, so I stopped, put Jonah in a sit-stay, and fixed my eyes on this other-worldly creature in front of me. I felt my eyelids burn and my throat tighten as reverence and awe landed on my apathetic, self-absorbed heart. I had been surrounded by incredible beauty, but had been nearly bored by it, committing that horrible sin of taking God’s good gifts for granted. But then, as this elusive creature stood in front of me, giving me the gift of allowing me to gaze upon its unique beauty, I was flattened by humility. 

I thought about something my friend and mentor Makoto Fujimura wrote in his book, River Grace: 

The weight of beauty I saw... began to crush my own heart... Finding beauty in nature and art, I did not have a 'shelf' on which to place that beauty inside my heart. (p. 6)

When a person has an encounter with intense, transcendent beauty, the only salvation from the crushing weight of glory is to worship God. The human heart cannot simply hold beauty inside; it will explode. Beauty is intended to serve as a catalyst for worship, but if a person does not know how to worship, or perhaps rather who to worship, beauty cannot serve its divine function (and beauty is, ultimately, utilitarian; it is meant to catalyze worship of the source of all beauty, imortal, invisible, God only wise.) Like a river flowing against a dam, if the dam doens't open, something tears and all hell breaks loose. When beauty flows into our hearts, the dam of worship toward God must be open wide, flowing through. The beauty of this Blue Heron filled my heart with something so intense, it caused my whole body to shudder.

The interesting thing is, Mako was referring to his encounters with beauty before he was a Christ-follower; he did not have the "shelf" because he was not yet in Christ. But here I was, a Jesus-lover, fully devoted to the King of glory. What was my excuse? 

Suddenly it hit me: my shelf was cluttered. I had a beauty shelf, but it was full of stacks of papers, To-Do Lists, prayer concerns, tasks, money-management ideas (today is payday, after all), and when I experienced an unexpected encounter with something glorious, there was not room on my shelf for it to land. I wasn't looking for it. I wasn't expecting it. I wasn't ready for it. The blue sky couldn't land, the red, orange, yellow and brown leaves couldn't land, the mallards and their wives couldn't land. But with the Blue Heron, in one fell swoop, God reached down with his righteous right arm and cleared the shelf of all the worldly nonsense that hangs like a drape over my heart much of the time. God in his mercy opened the eyes of my heart to see this creature, and in it, His beauty.

It lasted about ten seconds, and it was majestic.

Then, in one swift motion, the Blue Heron’s body dipped and lurched, taking flight, its wings opening like a great cape and carrying it not too far away, to a low-standing tree on the other side of the pond. I continued to stand there, my eyes glued to this beautiful beast, even as it continued to watch me as curiously as I watched it (though from a somewhat safer distance).

Finally, I continued along the path, which actually wound around the pond and behind the tree where the Blue Heron was now perched. I made another whole lap around the pond, glancing up at him every so often, poised like nature's gargoyle keeping watch over the pond under his domain.

When I reached the backside of the tree the second time, I decided to try to get a closer look. It was mesmerizing; I needed to see more.

Mercifully, the Blue Heron stayed put as Jonah and I walked to the foot of the tree, where he stood on a very narrow branch bending out over the water. He seemed to be secure, knowing that he was high enough that I could not reach him, so he did not take off. I stood below, gazing up at him about ten feet above me, the blue sky providing a breathtaking backdrop. At one point, he turned to give me a full profile view of his long, thin neck, gracefully extended and artfully arched. I made some whistle and clicking sounds, and he opened his mouth, giving me a look at another facet of his form. I smiled and said, “Yes, you are stunning. I do admire your beauty; thank you for sharing it with me.”

After Jonah’s patience had worn thin (he was totally unimpressed by this glorious creature), he started dropping sticks on my shoes, urging me to get this show on the road. So, with a final look and one last chill coursing through my body, I continued along the path toward home, looking back at the Blue Heron in the tree on the other side of the pond, growing smaller and smaller the further away we got. He never moved, and I swear he was watching me all the way too.

I’m home now. Jonah is tuckered out and sleeping at my feet. In a few moments, I will go the post office, the library, the grocery store. I will come home and work on my homework, and maybe later on, or tomorrow, I will do my laundry (Lord willing).

But everything about these things will be different, because there will be awe in my heart as I do them. 

Awe trumped apathy today; a great victory was won.

I think I got a little insight through this experience. Martha’s error was not that she was busy. Busy is necessary to productivity, and productivity is admirable; one can easily make a biblical case in favor of productivity. No, Martha’s problem was not that she was working her way through a To Do List. Martha’s problem was that she was too distracted to see God's beauty in Jesus. She was operating with no reverence, no awe in her heart. Mary spent some time gazing at Jesus, and awe lighted on her heart, taking hold and coloring everything else she did. Martha's problem was that she was unimpressed by the beauty in her midst.

Today I will be busy. But I will also be impressed by beauty. That’s the key, and that is how I can spend the rest of my day busy and reverent. Like Brother Lawrence, I can practice God’s presence throughout my daily tasks by remembering God – in this case, remembering the look on the Blue Heron’s face, as he seemed to wink at me and say, “Consider the ravens.”