He that planteth a tree is a servant of God, he provideth a kindness for many generations, and faces that he hath not seen shall bless him.” ~Henry Van Dyke
For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace: the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. ~Isaiah 55:12
How little note is taken of the deeds of Nature!
What paper publishes her reports?
Who publishes the sheet music of the winds,
or the written music of water written in river lines?
Who reports the works and ways or the clouds,
those wondrous creations coming into being
every day like freshly upheaved mountains?
And what record is kept of nature’s colors – the clothes she wears
– of her birds, her beasts – of her livestock?
~John Muir
When life is lived close to nature, one sups at banquets the earth lays upon sacred plains and holy, high altars. These moving, kaleidoscopic feasts are found in or on waters, woods, hills, mountains, meadows, fields, deserts, even rocky, jagged cliffs. Therein or on the planet’s vistas and colors bedazzle the eyes; her shapes and textures fascinate the hands; her scents and fragrances thrill the nose; her rhythms and symphonies seduce the ears while through it all and all the while the human heart is comforted by God’s faithfulness and His divinely appointed seasons. Simply put, under the sun, moon, and stars and in haunts where breezes blow, grasses grow, and waters flow the human spirit and the soul are nurtured while his life is sustained by the Creator’s grace and lavish spreads.
He (God) performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted. ~Job 5:9 ✝
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up…to more than I can be.
~Josh Groban, American singer and songwriter
There is a peacefulness in a gray, cloudy day. The air, normally charged with energy from the sun, loses its intensity and floats lightly on the gentle wings of tranquil contentment. Noises are quieter and more mellow under lowering, billowy clouds not angry with the fury of storms. My steps are slower, less urgent, as I move on the footpaths of the routine daily tasks before me. Pushing up from deep within a still, small voice, often neglected, is more audible in the day’s silences. It speaks of matters of the heart and the spirit, never of worldly affairs, nor greed, nor lust, nor gain in this world of men and madness. Instead the voice nudges me to be in active pursuit of His plans for my life, not in the grand designs of my own folly. It tries to keep me from complacency hiding under the guise of ignorance and brings light into dark places where I’m to face bigger issues that I often would rather ignore because it’s so much easier to do so. The voice is not, however, a judgmental one; it is instead an encouraging, affirming agent that lifts me up on high, sacred ground.
“And after the earthquake, a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.” 1 Kings 19:12 ✝
Rain! whose soft architectural hands
have power to cut stones, and
chisel to shapes of grandeur the very mountains.
~Henry Ward Beecher
Each drop of rain is a powerful miracle, a miracle that falls between heaven and earth as it travels vast distances around earth’s surface. It speaks so loudly of holiness that whenever it appears here, it never fails to draw me to itself. Perhaps because somewhere in my memory’s oldest and deepest recesses there’s a vague in-utero recollection of the soothing nature of a watery beginning, a remembrance of a sacred mothering source. When the first drops of rain hit the ground, especially after a long absence, they fall on my ears not unlike the chords of a beloved’s voice. And after the rain, when the smell of wet soil and damp grass greet my nose, I “weep for gladness.” The deliciousness of its return prompts the same urges I experienced in childhood. What fun it would have been to have played in the rain and danced with wanton delight in the sloshy puddles beneath my feet had mom not forbid it.
All the water earth will ever have was granted us at the beginning of time. In whatever form it falls to earth, be it rain, fog, frost, snow, or sleet, water is part of a divinely designed cycle to insure Creation’s continuance. The holy water-bearers bring the stuff without which there is no life for it is the substance in which life is formed and the substance of which life is sustained. As a part of the grand and holy design, falling waters move in never-ending circles to kiss the earth and return to the clouds. Given that I can’t help but wonder how far each drop of moisture has traveled throughout the eons of time. One thing of which I’m always certain though is that rain’s “soft architectural hands” were made by the soft Hands of He who made the earth and us.
I will send you rain in its season, and the ground will yield its crops and the trees their fruit. Leviticus 26: 4 ✝
Sacred Touches 