All around me, things are changing.
The Dallas-Fort Worth area is expanding rapidly, and the sights and sounds a mile or so up the road from me bear witness to that transformation.
Heavy equipment is clearing the land, leveling the dirt and setting up roads and street lights. Soon, the frameworks of dozens of homes will go up. And before you know it, what was once a field where wildflowers bloomed and cattle grazed will be a shiny, new neighborhood.
I’ve become a bit immune to all of this. Four years ago, I could take a short drive up the highway and see plenty of these pastures. Now, those spaces are filled with strip malls, megastores, restaurants, entertainment venues and homes.
Heck, my supermarket was once a field covered in mesquite brush. I think about that every time I pull into the parking lot to load up on groceries.
It’s as if we flipped a switch. What was once God’s green earth has become a place essential to our lives, a place where memories are made.
Those new neighborhoods? Families will make their lives there, and children will grow up there. That area will mean everything to those who call it home.
Those new stores and strip malls? They’ll become woven into our routines, the way that supermarket has become part of mine.
Those entertainment centers and restaurants? They’re where good times will be had, romances will be grown and new chapters among friends and families will be written.
Yes, a simple construction boom can result in a multitude of stories — many happy ones, some sad ones and even a few tragic ones. All in a setting that appeared out of thin air.
This is a testament to societal growth. But though these changes serve to benefit us, it’s best that we don’t forget what came before.
For while we identify with the structures that frame our memories — our childhood home, our favorite restaurant — we must remember that all of it is an illusion.
At one point, the land we now inhabit was nothing more than that. The structures we’ve created came from the dirt — the same dirt we will return to when our time is done.
Now, it’s true that much of the space we’ve created predates our existence. But in the moments where it doesn’t, we owe it to ourselves to recognize all that is lost in the transformation between the natural order and the human order.
We must recognize our impact, both for better and for worse. And we must keep our achievements in proper context.
For the space create may help us shape our own stories. But the ground we build upon tells an eternal story all its own — one far greater than the scope of anything we’ve created.
We’d be fools not to give nature proper due. So, let’s look beyond the lens of our own ingenuity and appreciate the presence of something far greater.
The ground we live on is sacred. Respect it.