B158. Simple Views and Ponderings from a Morning Walk

Oh the treasures within our reach at every moment. How I love the coolness of a September morning walk. The lazy chirp of a single bird. The neighbor in his pickup truck who stops to chat. The many hints that Fall is coming soon.

I'm thinking this morning of how little of God's creation we ever see or understand, of how each of us is such a tiny yet giant part of the vast universe, of how our own life experiences, unlike those of anyone else, give each of us wisdom and knowledge and skill that make us valuable to the whole, to each other, all intricately woven into nature's tapestry.

Like Pastor Lara's recent sermon illustration about the giant sequoias in Yosemite Park. Some are almost as big around as the church sanctuary, she said, and reach high into the sky. Yet the roots are not deep. Their strength instead comes from their roots intertwining with the roots of the others, so that the whole forest works together, giving strength and protection to all.

We need each other's differences, each other's wisdom, knowledge, skills, and perspective, to make us all One as God's creation, to make us whole. I will share myself, but in humility, acknowledging that my understanding on its own is flawed in its incompleteness.

Look back at the top photo. Nothing but road? Here's a closer view, still not easy to see, as nature has so designed. A baby kingsnake, about 10 inches long if stetched out straight. Often food for hawks and other large birds, but those that live to adulthood  will eat other snakes including venomous rattlesnakes. Kingsnakes, just because they are snakes, are often feared and harmed, but they are helpful, not harmful, to humans. What/Whom else do we fear to our own detriment?

Consider the acorn. Hundreds beneath one tree, they feed the squirrels. And inside each acorn is a mighty oak tree. Not every acorn will become an oak, but every oak tree was once an acorn, an acorn that went through numerous struggles and changes, dying, burying underground, reaching for the sunlight, sprouting, enduring even the most threatening of storms . . . Who are the mighty trees around you? Are you listening to them? There is often great wisdom in those who have known great struggle.

Many morning glories greet me on my walk, mostly bluish violet, with a few white like this one.  Not planted by any human, they open up every morning to greet those passing by. Then they close back up until the next break of dawn. Those who walk during the afternoons probably miss them, as I miss what only they might see.

With all the recent rain, I encounter various shapes and sizes of mushrooms. It was an accident, but this photo is an optical illusion. You might see the mushroom shaped as an open flower facing slightly right of the the direction of the above flower, or you might see it toadstool-shaped. It's possible to see it both ways; and while we focus on the mushroom, what might we be missing in the surrounding clover?

Alone, we will never see everything, and even what we do see is incomplete without the views and experiences of those who see things from other perspectives. In God's vast universe, a first sign of wisdom must be the acknowledgement that "I see and understand so very little," and a second, that "we all need each other."

B40. Evening Primrose

Be still and know that I am God.  (Ps. 46:10)

Today I saw the opening of an evening primrose.

A primrose bush apparently blooms for only a few weeks during the year.  Each bloom opens at about 8:30 PM on whatever evening it is ready, opening from stem to full bloom in about one minute as if being played in time lapse speed, only to fall withered to the ground the following day, that particular stem never to rebloom.  As with any flower, the bloom itself is lovely.  Yet, to see only the bloom and not its opening is to miss its miraculous gift.  No words, no photos, not even a video, can capture the full awesomeness of witnessing God’s hand at work.

Personal presence.  The patience of experiencing creation while the ever-active Creator is at work.  The opening of the primrose, the dolphins at play in the winter surf, the distinct songs of the birds of the woodlands, walking through a light summer rain and welcoming the refreshment to our bodies, the rejoicing at each new change as a tiny planted seed peeks from the soil and gradually produces tomatoes, or apples, or daisies. We can know these with our minds, but only in our stillness will we become a player in the experience, and in that experience we find sweet intimacy with the Artist at work. We miss creation if we define it as a past event, finished and complete, for creation lives. The creative work of God is in progress at every geographic location at every moment, so convenient for each of us, lest we should seek those moments to "be still."

We are a busy people, settling for the passing God rituals, for talk about God, for a quick mealtime prayer.  But all around us, the Master Artist is painting, sculpting, creating for our pleasure, knowing that most of the primrose blooms will fall to the ground without our recognition.  Yet the Creator creates another and another, just in case we might find stillness for a moment and watch creation's work.  Every flower holds its own mystery, fauna its own gift.

Be still and know that I am God, says  the 46th Psalm, and if we are still enough to watch the primrose open, we rest, not in mind alone, but in soul, with the Peace of this Psalm’s beginning:  God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. (Ps. 46:1-3)

Today I saw the opening of an evening primrose, and the very movement of God’s hand brushed my soul.

*Special note of thanks to Cathy Robbins for inviting me to share her primrose!

Similar posts:

My Baby Birds

Morning Worship

B29. December Walk

Who alone can ask the mid-December sun to pretend it’s May, and it listens,
And coax a cool gentle breeze to soften the sun’s hot rays,
Leaving only the crackling of the empty acorn shells
and the red berries on prickly holly trees
To remind that it’s December?

Only the One whose voice is heard shouting whispers in the silent woods:
in the gurgling brook,
in the tap-tap-tap of the lone woodpecker,
in the gentle rustling of the few leaves still clinging to the trees
as the light breeze passes through.

A backdrop of clear blue
As cottony white clouds drift slowly by,
How wonderful to spend this rare December day alone with You.

Written by Kathy, 12/15/2011 at her 2^nd visit to Well of Mercy

See post from first visit: Morning Worship

B25. Reflections on a November Morning

An early morning drive alongside the mountains for a morning speaking engagement.  The softness of the early morning light.  The breathtaking  painted canvas of magnificent hues and colors across the sky.  Then the sun peeks over the hills, slowly rising to fullness, illuminating the vivid reds, oranges and yellows of the autumn landscape.  Surely a drive with which the trip home cannot compete.  But then, as I make my way back toward home, I share the road with an occasional lone snowflake, dancing slowly and silently to the ground, soon to disappear forever, its beauty seen only by me for a fleeting moment.  What treasured gifts are such moments with God.




Similar post:  Morning Worship