A certain woman went out and made a fragrant garden on her front step, using rich soil and pots of divers sizes. She chose marjoram, basil, and oregano to make meals satisfying to the tongue. There was chamomile to soothe, and mint to refresh the spirit, and.... well, you get the idea.

Now raccoons came in the night to feast on grubs within the rich soil, and knew not the woman's ambition. And verily, with their tiny hands they scooped the tender transplants, roots and all, and scattered them upon the ground. They spilt the contents of the pots, smothering and trampling her cherished herbs until they were wilted and limp.

Now in the morning, the woman was sorely troubled and laid plans to undo this mischief. Truly, she would overcome the raccoons.

"Lay compost upon the ground," one urged her. "Cast down vegetable and leaf; sprinkle bone of chicken and of fish. Place it in a corner of the lot, as an offering delightful to them. They will eat, and trouble you not."

The woman had a vision of raccoons and bears gathering and feasting in that distant corner, then lifting up their eyes unto her front step, and skulking forward with salivating maws gaping wide. 

"Fence them out," urged another.

In a fresh vision, she saw the raccoons clambering over the fence, now turning their desires to the large vegetable garden below.

The woman remembered the lesson that her father had learned in bitterness and sorrow, when she had been but a child.

(This is a parable within a parable, which might not be possible for the form, but here it is anyway.)

• A farmer went down to the brook along the woodlot edge, and there at the narrows he built a bridge, that he might pass unto the other side. 
• And he trimmed away the trees, the saplings, the poison ivy, and the brush, that his way might be clear. 
• On the far side, however, he left two young maple trees to frame the way, to provide shade and artistry. And it pleased him well.
• Now beavers came, and gazed upon the narrows, and saw that it was good. And they wove together a dam that filled the space beneath the bridge, and the waters rose.
• In the morning, the man donned hip waders and pulled the dam stick by stick into his wagon, and he towed it away.
• The beavers rebuilt, for beavers are determined and care not about pleasing farmers.
• Verily the man smote the waters and tore out the bridge again,
• And the next morning, a perfect dam lay packed beneath the bridge. 
• But of the pleasing maples, there was no sign.

Thus it is shown that nature takes its own path, and does not take our resistance as law. For nature has missed the memo about humans being in charge.

So the woman repotted her chamomile, and she repotted her mint, and her oregano, and her basil, and her marjoram. And she accepted that, if the raccoons returned, her meals might be less tasty, but she would not starve.

And verily, her garden flourished.

​Here endeth the lesson.

We do not invite a theophany.

If we look for it, it will evade us.

We develop systems with key phrases and gestures to summon the deity, to capture the divine presence, to bind it to us.

We systemize holiness. Layer upon layer, with ritual and invocation, we drag God into our presence.

We systemize our responsibility to creation. We cannot feed you,  because we are busy volunteering. We have a heat-pump that reduces power usage; we crank it up. We buy an electric car because we are virtuous and electricity is clean. We will deal with the clutter, the lithium mines, the bits and pieces of toxic waste, the recycling and all the other fun..... tomorrow.

The earth is as weary of our projects as surely God must be.

Send us rain, so victims of fire can get back to normal.  Not too much, though, because flood victims will then be taking news time. Bring balance, so we can have fireworks. And don't forget to pray for the nice people in the front lines.

Do not clear-cut unless you are flattening the earth for condominiums with environmental upgrades. Save your plastics; they will be currency one day. We will wrestle creation and creator into submission.