Now we’re ready to look at something pretty special.
It’s a duck, riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf.
No it isn’t a gull. A gull always has a raucous touch about him.
This is some sort of duck, and he cuddles in the swells.
He isn’t cold, and he is thinking things over.
There is a big heaving in the Atlantic, and he is a part of it.
He looks a bit like a mandarin, or the Lord Buddha meditating under the Bo tree.
But he hardly has enough above the eyes to be a philosopher.
He has poise, however, which is what philosophers must have.
He can rest while the Atlantic heaves, because he rests in the Atlantic.
Probably he doesn’t know how large the ocean is. And neither do you. But he realizes it.
And what does he do, I ask you? He sits down in it! He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity, which it is.
He has made himself a part of the boundless by easing himself into just where it touches him.
I like the little duck. He doesn’t know much, but he’s got religion.
by Donald Babcock
I like the little duck too. He doesn’t fret about the swell; he sees himself as part of it. He settles in where he is and rides along.
He’s perhaps not very intelligent, definitely not very complicated, but he’s “got religion.” Why? Because it’s part of being a duck. It’s the way he was made.
If only we could rest in the waves too, confident that our place in the master plan is vastly more about God’s intentions toward us rather than about our efforts.
This post might seem kind of random, but the rain made me think of ducks this morning, and inspiration comes to me in odd ways sometimes.
I’m so glad I spent some time thinking about this little guy today. He made me smile, and reminded me of just how simple everything can be. Especially if we stop trying to swim against the natural direction of the sea.