‘The Bell Inn’ by George Morland, late 1780s | Source (edited by the Author)

Earning My Keep

The Poetry and Theology of Unearned Grace

Originally posted on Brennan.Day, read there without a paywall.

In the past few days, snowfall outside has landed softly in the evenings, only to melt away each morning after, arriving as a grace note, disappearing before you can begin to take it for granted. I’ve been waking earlier than usual, drawn to my window by something I can hear before I can see it. Birdsong. The Red-breasted Nuthatches come first, their tiny tin-horn calls — yank, yank, yank — a cartoon argument happening six inches from your ear. Then the House Finches, males rosy-chested and singing in long, warbling runs that end on an ascending note, each song a question they’re too delighted to wait for an answer to. I’ve set up a feeder in the tree right outside my bedroom window, so morning begins with small warm bodies against bare branches, creatures who wedge seeds into bark crevices and work at them with their bills, earning their keep.

What does it mean to earn something? To deserve a meal, a morning, a life.

In the past few days, my most recent article, “That’s Home. That’s Us”, was not only selected for Medium’s Staff Picks, but was also featured in the most recent Medium newsletter, where the editor wrote that the piece offered “a rally cry for responsibility, not nihilism.” I have vertigo of…