When my granddaughter Julia was two, she and I would play a game in the car on the way to our house. As we got close to Concord, she would point to a house and ask, “Is that Grummy’s house?” and I would have to respond with a reason that it wasn’t, such as, “No, it’s too big.” or, “No, it’s too yellow.” This could go on for quite some time. Apparently, she liked to hear all the reasons it was not Grummy’s house.
Once we passed a temple in Sudbury. She asked her question and I answered, “No, that’s a temple.” “What’s a temple?” she said. I told her it was a lot like the church that she went to with her family. “What do you do there?” she wondered.
“You sing and pray, you listen to Bible stories…”
“What else do you do there?”
“You thank God for things in your life.”
“What things?”
Remember that she was two, the age when the questions keep on coming.
“Oh, things like your family and your friends and beautiful days like today.” Silence, for just a minute, and then I heard her little voice: “and woodpeckers!”
Why that popped into her head right at that moment I’ll never know but I thought, how wonderful. Woodpeckers! Why not? Thank God for woodpeckers!
The remainder of the ride was punctuated by “tap-tap-tap” from the back seat as Julia imitated the woodpecker.
Julia reminded me of all that I take for granted. I’ve seen hundreds of woodpeckers in my life, just as I have seen thousands of squirrels, and millions of ants. But for her, each one was a delight, a discovery. When we went for walks, she would pick up every stone or pine cone to show me. The dandelions became gold stars in my buttonhole.
Long ago, the psalmists praised God for stars and wind, fire and moon, springs and valleys. It’s time now to praise God for woodpeckers.
Praise God for the woodpecker; for tap-tap-tap on hollow trunk.
Praise for the sound, louder than the thrum of stick on drum.
Praise for the one who knows its task, who knows its place in the green woods; to peck, to feed, to create its home.
Praise to the Maker of tree and bird.
Praise for our ears to hear the clamor of creativity.
Praise for the silence that allows the sound.