THE MORNING SONG
Do you ever feel the beauty of this world is more than you can comprehend?
Early one morning, I realized a bird sang outside the window—not more than five feet from where I was making a bed. I peered out the window trying to see him.
But he hid in the leafy branches of a shrub. I sank to the bed and listened, reveling in the inspiring notes and short melodies.
God made the feathered creature with the ability to welcome morning’s light with a song.
I wanted to stay and listen. I longed to grasp the cadence and trills in the performance. But it ended too soon. Sunlight filtered through the tree branches, and then a dove joined in with a softer tone, as if pouring forth the benediction.
Within a ten-minute span of time, I witnessed a fragment of God’s wonderful handiwork. I cannot comprehend the enormity of His creations. His touch leaves an imprint on everything—right down to the miniature tree frog trilling forth a song after a summer rain.
So many adults and children never visit God’s natural settings or view His amazing gifts. Children sit with tiny screens in their hands, fingers moving, playing a manufactured game—which will be outdated and tossed aside in a few months.
And man has tried to tame nature.
But through the lack of appreciation, much is destroyed. And there is more to this world than man will ever comprehend. Just the awe of walking up a mountain trail and gazing at a single flower, which may wither away without another human being ever appreciating it, cannot be described.
But that is God. He knew what He created was good. That fact is recorded in the Bible.
But what struck me this morning was the thought that just a tiny bird singing is something we humans cannot fully grasp, even though we listen over and over. We do not know what the bird feels or why it sings the beautiful notes. What is it saying or proclaiming? Does it pour forth thanks? We can only pause, close our eyes and listen—listen intently.
When you step outside today, take a grateful look around you, even if there is snow piled in drifts over your yard. See God in the snowflakes, in the constant drip of melting icicles on the porch’s overhang, and in the fact you can see your breath. God breathed into us. We became living creatures with the capability to appreciate, as a gift, the rest of his creation.
Copyright © Karen Campbell Prough 2015
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