Some days I wonder about it all. I ponder the meaning of life. The meaning of my life. Why am I here? What am I doing? Am I doing enough? What more could I be doing–to contribute to those around me, to contribute to my life, to contribute to the world? Why are we all here anyway? How’d we get here? What are we supposed to be doing? Accomplishing? What am I supposed to be doing. What should I be accomplishing?
Why does the world just keep on turning the way it has been for billions of years? Who else is out there? Do they live in our solar system (not likely), or are they in galaxies, far far away?
Why are there so many different interpretations of a power greater than ourselves? And why do they all carry a similar thread?
See? I can make myself crazy, nutso, insane, off-my-rocker cuckoo for cocoa puffs in a very short time.
But then today, everything just seemed to click into place. And I felt comfortable with my tiny little existence and the tiny, insignificant things that I do each and every day. Because I heard about some scientists who’ve been spending a lot of time doing what scientists do, in this case studying the science of chickens…and math…and the way in which chickens do math.
I know, right?
That’s what I thought initially. “That is without a doubt the most insane, crazy, ludicrous thing I have EVER heard.”
But then I listened a bit longer and came to realize that, you know what? Maybe it all just doesn’t matter. And Charlene is going to study chickens. And Matt’s going to study math. And then Jim-Bob is going to decide to study chickens doing math. And Mary Sue is going to do the laundry and wonder if the sky is going to fall. And Peggy Jean is going to fret about the water bill. And Freddy is going to deliver the mail.
And….so on and so on and so on. And each and every one of us with all of our umpteen bazillion tiny, insignificant little lives and tiny, insignificant little details get all bundled up together in a great big ball of twine and whammo! There’s the earth. And maybe we do matter. And what we do matters. And whether that’s studying chickens counting or folding the laundry or trying to decide what to have for dinner matters. Because it matters to someone. And that’s important. All of our insignificance adds up to the significance of this earth.
Whew. That’s some heavy stuff dude. And all because I listened to a news blurb on the BBC this afternoon about chickens being able to count. Good grief.
Blessings be on you and your significance.