Hidden away in high mountain woods, perfect quiet, except for a little brook in the back, birds singing (and flocking around, when seed is put out for them), and the sound of wind in the trees. In the cool of early morning a fire in the stone fireplace, but in the afternoons open windows and warm breezes passing through.
At night, stars as if all the jewelers in the world had loosed their diamonds and flung them upward, countless thousands and millions, like all the sand of all the beaches sparkling across the dark sky. And then sleep, uninterrupted, silent, and cool.
Here, theology comes to life, takes on new meaning. The voice of God laughs and
whispers in the brook,
and the aspens clap their applause. The wind is the Spirit giving life to the world, singing His way through the trees. The Lord’s stride is seen in the breadth of the land rolling between high peaks, and the palm of His hand rests in the grove, upholding me where I sit in the morning sun, meditating on His Word.
The Lord is alive and seen in His creation, the world which He made for man as a gift of glory and life.
How dim and pale by comparison are the creations and commerce of man, how constricted, when all providence lies in the open hand of God, spilled forth for us, offered from all eternity for all eternity. All creation exists that God may be known and loved; the features of God are carved in rock and hill. He is looking at us and offering to us. Will we accept? Then we shall be like Him, His features carved in us. We will be sons of glory, sons of God, the meeting place between heaven and earth, God walking on the earth, with us, and in us.
