There are four neighborhoods in a row here, where the many different breeds of dogs (on leashes, of course) and their owners are free to traverse. But today (3/13/24) a surprise awaited my doggie and me behind door#3: a welcoming committee. Pink blossoming trees standing proudly at intervals, representing their various apartment rows and tenants. And advancing slowly from corner to corner and street to street, I gasped with each unveiling: yet another display of a thousand bouquets. And somewhere in my heart, I heard the trees, and felt the warmth in every greeting:
"Welcome, 'Daughter of Eve' -- and your furry companion!"
"We've been waiting for your arrival."
"We honor the King's Daughter and her Royal Pomsky."
"We are delighted that you have come."
And what do you do with such a royal welcome? With such lavish gifts of hospitality? I find a clue in the words of Jesus, as recorded in the Gospels: "For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve." And in Paul's ancient letter to the Romans, there's talk of "the whole creation groaning" as it waits for its liberators -- its stewards -- to be active and revealed. So what would happen if you paused right where you are to listen... to take a good look around? I bet you'd see... something. Maybe a piece of trash on the ground, or a waterway clogged with boxes and plastic. A neighborhood green space littered with bottles and food wrappers, or a roadside dotted with crumpled bags and beer cans. Maybe just a sink full of dirty dishes, or an overflowing trash receptacle. Whatever the sight, the sound... I think we can bring some relief. It just might require some work gloves --and a pair of muck boots.