Receiving Care From Creation

By Theresa Crimmins, parishioner of St. Pius X Parish, Tucson

August is the most challenging month to enjoy in Tucson. Situated at the tail end of the summer and the monsoon season, this month is characterized by heat (still!), humidity, and – ugh! – mosquitos. By the end of August, I am truly grumpy, having been closed inside all summer long with the air conditioning running. A sense of feeling shut in, cut off, even trapped pervades my being.

This sense of confinement and disconnection – and its negative effects -- are slow to dawn on me. Often, it takes the form of a low-level funk, a dulling of my senses and a progressive erosion of joy. I surprise myself with my impatience, my general crankiness. I grew up in Michigan, where winter is the season of confinement and February is the longest month. Consequently, I don’t tend to recognize the end of the summer as such a challenging period to navigate.

This past Labor Day was a long weekend. Long weekends are marketed to us as grand opportunities for entertaining, recreation, rest, and “fun.” You can see where this is going… I went into the weekend with unspecified but loaded expectations for days punctuated by high points. The first couple of days of my weekend were fine. We spent part of Saturday tackling some long overdue yardwork and shuttled kids to their activities; Sunday we got the house cleaned up… but by Monday, I was listless, cranky, and dissatisfied that the weekend was not delivering in ways I somehow expected. In a huff of frustration, I launched myself onto a long, solitary bike ride on the Loop Trail. Because of the holiday, the trail was crowded, which did nothing positive for my mood. Eventually I crossed Irvington Road and progressed into the desert near Fantasy Island Mountain Bike Park. 

As I rode along, suddenly with the bike path to myself and no buildings or cars within my sight, I felt the tightness in my chest start to release. I noticed the intense oranges and reds of the barrel cactus blooms in their full glory, and a ground squirrel skittered along the trail with me for a short bit. And it hit me. I had been missing OUTSIDE. I had been feeling cooped up inside, in a myriad of ways: trapped in my house, my car, my office, my to-do list, my schedule, my responsibilities. My soul had been aching for some reconnection with Creation.

Once I made this realization, I felt loads better. I was also suddenly so grateful for the gift of a day off! I returned home and quickly made plans for an outdoor excursion with my husband and teenaged son, who was thrilled at the prospect of a field trip. We drove partway up Mt. Lemmon, with no particular aim other than to be outside with the trees and rocks. We enjoyed the cool trickle of runoff from recent monsoon storms and delighted in discovering tadpoles in small pools of water sheltered in the rock. My son shrieked with delight as he caught a Sonoran Desert toad. We paused to feel tangled lengths of soft green algae growing under streaming water. 

Pope Francis writes in The Joy of the Gospel (Evangelii Guadium), no. 215, “Thanks to our bodies, God has joined us so closely to the world around us that we can feel the desertification of the soil almost as a physical ailment, and the extinction of a species as a painful disfigurement.” This insight characterizes the misalignment I was experiencing perfectly.

Catholic social teaching directs us to take care of all living things and one another. Pope Benedict wrote, “the environment is God's gift to everyone, and in our use of it we have a responsibility towards the poor, towards future generations and towards humanity as a whole” (Charity in Truth [Caritas in Veritate], nos. 48, 51)). In my work as a research scientist and in my roles as mother, husband, sister, daughter, and more, I endeavor to care for living things and loved ones. My experience this past weekend was a wake-up call that first and foremost, I need to care for myself, and how I do that is by remaining connected to Creation. Ironically, I am not well-prepared to care for Creation unless I am connected to and restored by Creation.
 
After we returned home from our excursion to Mt. Lemmon, I encouraged my husband to turn off the air conditioning and switch back to the swamp cooler. With the doors and windows open again and the breeze carrying in smells and sounds from outside, my mood and energy level have improved dramatically. With this care from Creation, I am restored to care for Creation.