Since becoming a Christian at the turn of the millennium, I have been repeatedly overwhelmed at how blind I had been for my entire adult life. How could I have looked at the world around me and missed the hand of the Creator? How in particular could I have failed to see Him, and His supreme sense of beauty, design and humor, in critters such as the puffin -- like the one shown here, with a mouthful of sand eels, from a spectacular portfolio of Farne Island photos published by The Atlantic.
I have no excuse. I was raised on puffins by a mother who often recited this little poem:
There Once Was a Puffin
by Florence Page Jaques
Oh, there once was a Puffin
Just the shape of a muffin,
And he lived on an island
In the bright blue sea!
He ate little fishes,
That were most delicious,
And he had them for supper
And he had them for tea.
But this poor little Puffin,
He couldn't play nothin',
For he hadn't anybody
To play with at all.
So he sat on his island,
And he cried for awhile, and
He felt very lonely,
And he felt very small.
Then along came the fishes,
And they said, "If you wishes,
You can have us for playmates,
Instead of for tea!"
So they now play together,
In all sorts of weather,
And the Puffin eats pancakes,
Like you and like me.
My mother was famous for reciting this little poem, at least in our family. So perhaps it was no surprise when we found that she'd left an audio tape on her bedside table, just before she went Home to the Lord -- and that on it, she had recorded herself reciting this very poem just days earlier. Her goal in doing so, she said, was to always remind us that in death as in life, "your mother was the font of all wisdom."
When He formed her, her Creator had obviously given her more than a smattering of His sense of humor. How could I have missed that, too?
Updated from a 1/9/14 post
I have no excuse. I was raised on puffins by a mother who often recited this little poem:
There Once Was a Puffin
by Florence Page Jaques
Oh, there once was a Puffin
Just the shape of a muffin,
And he lived on an island
In the bright blue sea!
He ate little fishes,
That were most delicious,
And he had them for supper
And he had them for tea.
But this poor little Puffin,
He couldn't play nothin',
For he hadn't anybody
To play with at all.
So he sat on his island,
And he cried for awhile, and
He felt very lonely,
And he felt very small.
Then along came the fishes,
And they said, "If you wishes,
You can have us for playmates,
Instead of for tea!"
So they now play together,
In all sorts of weather,
And the Puffin eats pancakes,
Like you and like me.
My mother was famous for reciting this little poem, at least in our family. So perhaps it was no surprise when we found that she'd left an audio tape on her bedside table, just before she went Home to the Lord -- and that on it, she had recorded herself reciting this very poem just days earlier. Her goal in doing so, she said, was to always remind us that in death as in life, "your mother was the font of all wisdom."
When He formed her, her Creator had obviously given her more than a smattering of His sense of humor. How could I have missed that, too?
Updated from a 1/9/14 post
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