Finding God in the Beauty of Creation
When I observe your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you set in place, what is a human being that you remember him, a son of man that you look after him? (Ps. 8:3-4 CSB)
This past summer, I had the great fortune to spend many slow mornings on my back porch. Coffee, the birds, and the poet Mary Oliver ministered me through the hot months. Most of the time it was too hot to stay out for long. Breaking a sweat by just drinking coffee at 7:30 a.m. isn’t exactly ideal. But some mornings, the weather would have mercy and bring in air from the north. It was on those mornings that my gratitude journal would suddenly fill up.
There were a few blessed days that were spent in real nature; at a lake, by the ocean, in state parks—not just the manufactured nature of my backyard. It was in this real nature that I felt my body relax and my soul wake up. On these exceptional days, it was easy to fill up my journal and feel grateful. I noticed how easy it is to feel loved by my Creator when I can experience the wonder of creation. The quiet of nature, a green space, fireflies at twilight, the silence of a field or forest, land that has been protected for beauty’s and nature’s sake. These things helped my body and soul experience peace and love of the Creator.
It is in these spaces that I can hear the voice of God. I hear God in the call of the birds, the wind rustling the trees, the hum of a bee, or the blur of a hummingbird’s wings. The Creator whispers my name in the babble of a brook, the rush of a river, and the call of a loon. It is there that he speaks to me and says I love you. It is in those secret places that he tells me I never left you.
But those days were the exception. Many days, the air outside felt more like an oven, and all I could hear was the hum of air conditioners chugging away, trying to cool their individual boxes and the people hiding inside them. The voice of the Divine is silenced when the only land I walk on is hidden under blacktop, when plastic shopping bags catch on the fences that line the road and outnumber the trees. Where is the Creator when the graceful doe, so delicate and full of life, is left mangled and disembowled, without care or remorse, in the middle of the interstate? How do I find peace when the only dirge for God’s beautiful, wasted creation is the indifferent hum of tires on asphalt and a fog of exhaust?
How do I find God when humanity across the world—and across my town—disappoints me at every turn? When I can’t hide in the quiet beauty of creation, and I’m certain civilization is determined to crush itself?
Where is God then?
In despair, I turn to the Psalms, to the poets, to the composers. I look for answers and respite in their beauty. Relief is there, but fleeting. It only comes in in glimpses, in brief crescendoes and verses. How do I hold onto the voice of God when it grows silent? Like the notes on a piano, the tone fades away long after I continue to hold down the pedal.
I cannot hide away in a cabin in the woods, sequestered with the loons, so I keep coming back to the things I know before I become a loon myself.
The rumble of the deepest note on the organ.
The sound when a blend of voices in a chorus of praise clicks together and the veil is pulled aside.
The adoring gaze in my dog’s eyes.
The innocent face of a baby.
When a minister preaches compassion instead of power and humility instead of certainty.
The fragrance of a fig leaf in the sun.
The taste of a ripe peach or a perfectly seared scallop.
A sip of juice and the taste of a wafer, reminding me of the son of God’s love for all humankind.
These moments of the Creator’s beauty help sustain me between bouts of despair. The Psalms are my life raft, and Christ’s charge to serve is the tether that keeps me from giving up on my fellow man, and the gospel is my reminder that the body of Christ was broken and spilled out for all the world, not just a select few. When I can’t be enveloped in the beauty of creation, I can at least come back to the table each week. It is always set, ready to welcome both the inspired and the weary.
is a writer and blogger but more importantly, a wife and mother to two little boys. In her free time (if there is any) she can be found wiping snotty noses and volunteering in her community and school. Learn more about Stephanie along with her passion to encourage women and lighten their load at www.hugskissesandsnot.com.
Photograph © Beth Jnr, used with permission
