There is something so wholesomely beautiful about a child holding an egg she just plucked from the hen house, about a lichen-barked apple tree growing Eden-like in the middle of a sun-drenched clearing, about dirtied knees and fingers purpled from plucking blueberries from laden branches, about spending the day with people you love eating food that grew from the land around you. I've been reading a lot of Wendell Berry lately. I find it somewhat strange that I'm poring over essays on farming from the '70s and early '80s, but his writing about stewardship and nourishment and community makes so much sense and is so revolutionary (in the sense of a revolution, or a circle, which comes back to its beginning, or right place) that I find myself fascinated, inspired, and hopeful. It occurred to me how strange it is that the supposedly Christian political right came to be associated with a total lack of responsibility for nature. Bryan's answer was that for a lot of Christians, the idea that this life and this world don't matter and that we must focus only on heaven has, obviously, heavily informed the way we live. I'm so thankful, then, that there seems to be a movement in the other direction, toward a life that embraces both this world and the next and seeks to make God's kingdom known here and now.