Chipmunk Parkour

The magic of nature is unending surprise.

You never expect a chipmunk. The one I saw yesterday was a striped Eastern Chipmunk and it exploded underfoot. His tiny stripes and manic scampering no doubt help him stay alive but the net result is a whole lot of cute. What I didn’t expect to get from a tiny, frantic fur ball bouncing over the rocks was a feeling of peace but that’s what happened.

Why? Because he was there. And I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

I didn’t create him, plan him or take care of him. I hadn’t put out chipmunk food for him, whatever that is. I hadn’t placed little chipmunk houses on the rocks in hopes of giving him much needed shelter. I hadn’t taken him to the vet and given him his required shots. I hadn’t provided heat to protect him from the cold winter snow. I did nothing to keep him safe during the last thundering mountain storm. I have no idea how he arrived or survived or where he is now.

But he’s still out there.

He’s happily scurrying over the rocks like a midget parkour runner, dashing with abandon and leaping with apparent joy. No mother stood nearby to warn him to be careful. No warning signs cautioned him of the scary effects of gravity. No legalese reminded him that he did so at his own risk as there were no chipmunk lifeguards standing dutifully by. No ominous reporters looked on with dramatic theme music playing as they cautioned us not to try this at home.

Now you can call it a random act of chance, a mindless good fortune, a serendipitous twist of chemistry that created a flying fur ball who dances over the rock scape. You could describe his fast-forward acrobatics as an evolutionary defense mechanism that eliminated all of the slower munks of old. You could say his tiny hands and feet just happened to have tiny claws that happened to grip the smooth-worn rocks like Velcro. You could explain his camouflage coloration, his diet, his population and reproduction as common biology, depending on how many micro-miracles are you willing to ignore.

He won’t care.

He didn’t ask your permission to exist. He doesn’t need a handout. He needs no consideration at all. In fact, if you reach out to touch him you will be grasping nothing. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure that he’s a he. How could you tell from a scurrying blur?

But I am certain of one thing. He’s not an accident. I’ve seen accidents. They don’t look like him.

Instead, I believe he is birthed of God’s creativity and that brings me peace. A chipmunk is evidence that God doesn’t need me to do everything. I’m not required. But I do get to appreciate him. I get to share the delight of a sudden, unexpected chipmunk.

My part is to take the time to see him. And I, for my part, am wonderstruck.