Nature’s anomalies feel sacred. Their differences call out the beauty in everything around us.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. —Psalm 139:14 (ESV)
A flash of white zoomed down the walnut tree and across the lawn. I stared at it from the dining room, trying to figure out what I was seeing—a white rat? No, the tail was wrong. Big and bushy, it moved like a squirrel. A white squirrel? Watching closer, I yelled for Tony or the boys to get a second opinion. What the heck is it?
The boys came first. They looked out, said, “Yeah, I see it, a white squirrel,” and walked away. I tried to tell them the uniqueness of the situation, that it isn’t every day you see an albino squirrel. I told them I’ve been on this earth for decades and it’s the first one I’ve ever seen and, if I were a betting person I’d say I’m not likely to see another.
Tony came to the window. His eyes widened. “That’s something,” he said. I watched the squirrel run up and down an oak and then disappear in the knot of a maple.
Nature’s anomalies feel sacred. Their differences call out the beauty in everything around us. Their existence seems to say, I’m special, but everything else is, too. Look, look at that crow, hear the way his call sounds like “mama-mama.” And that tree over there, towering over the house, that started as a seed. The dandelions, yellow now, will later give children pause to blow on them and wish. All day long that little white squirrel helped me see the extraordinary in the ordinary, and I am blessed to be a witness.
Great Creator, the world is filled with so many wonders. Forgive me if I forget to notice and thank You for today’s “white squirrel,” a heavenly messenger to call out the miraculous all around me.