This is my father's world...
I drove into work this morning, through the Sacramento hills, to find a dramatically different landscape than the day before.
Trees that were bare had blossomed snow-white flowers. I wish you could see the drama of those stark black branches covered in new blossoms. It could not be painted better.
The fog was low and had drenched every blade of grass in the fields. I passed a heard of grazing cows. The close fog made the road and scene feel intimate. Like it was just me seeing these things.
Too soon the fields and scattered houses gave way to suburban sprawl: Shopping malls, traffic lights, and asphalt.
To taste the beauty of nature on a cold winter morning then to enter the city is to see an armwrestle of man against God. The landscapes we make pollute, uglify and quickly erode. We make dead things. The - even cursed - work of God is a endless drama of birth and life. He makes things that live. And even in death - the decaying tree, the frozen winter - they are beautiful.
What will I see walking through his redeemed creation? When the work of our hands no longer fights his? I can't even begin to imagine.
Trees that were bare had blossomed snow-white flowers. I wish you could see the drama of those stark black branches covered in new blossoms. It could not be painted better.
The fog was low and had drenched every blade of grass in the fields. I passed a heard of grazing cows. The close fog made the road and scene feel intimate. Like it was just me seeing these things.
Too soon the fields and scattered houses gave way to suburban sprawl: Shopping malls, traffic lights, and asphalt.
To taste the beauty of nature on a cold winter morning then to enter the city is to see an armwrestle of man against God. The landscapes we make pollute, uglify and quickly erode. We make dead things. The - even cursed - work of God is a endless drama of birth and life. He makes things that live. And even in death - the decaying tree, the frozen winter - they are beautiful.
What will I see walking through his redeemed creation? When the work of our hands no longer fights his? I can't even begin to imagine.
2 Comments:
I think the reason, as children, we stare at the illustrations in our books that have little houses nestled in the woods, even part of the trees or earth, (the Hobbit, the cottage of Sleeping Beauty) is because we inateley know we belong there, in the Garden.
I want to laugh, in the summer, or sometimes cry, when I cruise around the campgrounds with Dad, looking for a place to park our trailer. There he sits, Adam in his lawn chair, he drove miles, packed his whole house, to just be there again, because somehow, it feels right. He wants back in, but can only visit.
When we see the farms and fields turned into strip malls, or dogs behind bars in pounds, somehow, we feel responsible, and we are.
I love the end of Perelandra, where the couple is blessed on the new planet, sent out to build and have children, and you know, this time, it's going to be right. ~Mom
That's funny, I was just driving home admiring all the trees that blossomed in Grass Valley. They are so beautiful I just want to touch them and see if they are real. It's like the flowers on the table. When I saw them I had to look as close as I could to see how they stayed together. I couldn't even begin to make something that beautiful. The closest I have come are the babies but I know I didn't do that either. I am overhelmed at the things God creates. Lets plant lots of beautiful things in the yard. It makes me feel that much closer to the One who created them.
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