The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words,
whose voice is not heard. (Psalms 19:1-3)
I think I've used this verse in a post (or two) before. I've gotten to where, every time I look at the stars, I think of the heavens declaring the glory of God. When I look at the sky and the clouds during the day, I think of them proclaiming his handiwork. When I look at the flowers, or the nigh sky, or the grass, or the birds, I think of day to day pouring out speech, and night to night revealing knowledge, and how everything in nature is singing to God, and how we can hear it, if we just know how to listen.
Psalm 19 has made its way to my soul.
I realize that may be a pollyanna-ish view of life; rest assured that I have not always had this outlook. I've seen some pretty dark periods of depression, and I've had times where I couldn't see the beauty in much of anything, and when nothing--not nature, not other human beings, not anything--pointed in any way to a creator, or even to some deeper meaning. That's part of the road I've been on in this life; I call it the big ditch, depression, where I'm surrounced by darkness and muck, and there seems to be no way out.
I've read that the ideal way to begin a prayer is to praise God for all he has done. As I begin my morning prayers each day, it sometimse feels a little childish to say things like, "Thank you for the sky, and for the clouds, and the flowers, and the grass. But sometimes, particularly when my mind is not in an especially prayerful place, it's the best way to start.
I've been lucky in that I've spent a lot of time out in "nature" in my life, hiking and backpacking. If I'm hiking in the southern Appalachians, there's a good chance I'll be able to identify most of the trees and flowers along the path. I think of them as old friends, the white oaks and the fire pinks and the may apples. And there's nothing like climbing a mountain and looking out over the world from a rocky pinnacle.
I don't see so much of those now that I'm living in east-central Georgia; most of my walks now are confined to the suburbs. Still, I have plenty of opportunity to enjoy nature--some of the residents here in suburbia keep beautiful gardens. The azaleas are on their way out, but the irises are in full bloom, and the lilies are just starting. Japanese maples, crepe myrtles--two of my favorite trees--are common here. And there are plenty of magnolias, with their lovely cream-colored flowers.
The power and glory of God are being declared in every flower, every tree, every blade of grass. Every blue sky, every cloud, every drop of rain. In the smooth trunk of the magnolia, the sinewy branches of the crepe myrtle, unfurling of the iris.
I do begin my morning prayers with thanks to God for the great things he's done, but it's on my walks, as I'm admiring the beauty of nature, that I'm best able to offer praise. It's when I'm out there that I'm best able to hear nature as she declares the glory of God and proclaims his handiwork, pouring out speech and revealing knowledge. It's on my walks that, sometimes, I have my most intense and meaningful times of prayer.
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words,
whose voice is not heard. (Psalms 19:1-3)
I think I've used this verse in a post (or two) before. I've gotten to where, every time I look at the stars, I think of the heavens declaring the glory of God. When I look at the sky and the clouds during the day, I think of them proclaiming his handiwork. When I look at the flowers, or the nigh sky, or the grass, or the birds, I think of day to day pouring out speech, and night to night revealing knowledge, and how everything in nature is singing to God, and how we can hear it, if we just know how to listen.
Psalm 19 has made its way to my soul.
I realize that may be a pollyanna-ish view of life; rest assured that I have not always had this outlook. I've seen some pretty dark periods of depression, and I've had times where I couldn't see the beauty in much of anything, and when nothing--not nature, not other human beings, not anything--pointed in any way to a creator, or even to some deeper meaning. That's part of the road I've been on in this life; I call it the big ditch, depression, where I'm surrounced by darkness and muck, and there seems to be no way out.
I've read that the ideal way to begin a prayer is to praise God for all he has done. As I begin my morning prayers each day, it sometimse feels a little childish to say things like, "Thank you for the sky, and for the clouds, and the flowers, and the grass. But sometimes, particularly when my mind is not in an especially prayerful place, it's the best way to start.
I've been lucky in that I've spent a lot of time out in "nature" in my life, hiking and backpacking. If I'm hiking in the southern Appalachians, there's a good chance I'll be able to identify most of the trees and flowers along the path. I think of them as old friends, the white oaks and the fire pinks and the may apples. And there's nothing like climbing a mountain and looking out over the world from a rocky pinnacle.
I don't see so much of those now that I'm living in east-central Georgia; most of my walks now are confined to the suburbs. Still, I have plenty of opportunity to enjoy nature--some of the residents here in suburbia keep beautiful gardens. The azaleas are on their way out, but the irises are in full bloom, and the lilies are just starting. Japanese maples, crepe myrtles--two of my favorite trees--are common here. And there are plenty of magnolias, with their lovely cream-colored flowers.
The power and glory of God are being declared in every flower, every tree, every blade of grass. Every blue sky, every cloud, every drop of rain. In the smooth trunk of the magnolia, the sinewy branches of the crepe myrtle, unfurling of the iris.
I do begin my morning prayers with thanks to God for the great things he's done, but it's on my walks, as I'm admiring the beauty of nature, that I'm best able to offer praise. It's when I'm out there that I'm best able to hear nature as she declares the glory of God and proclaims his handiwork, pouring out speech and revealing knowledge. It's on my walks that, sometimes, I have my most intense and meaningful times of prayer.
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| Walking with my daughter, Grayson Highlands State Park, Virginia |
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