I live in the Pacific Northwest, home of the
Cascades,
Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in
them. Glorious and majestic are his
deeds, and his righteousness endures forever.
Each mountain bristling with evergreens
nudges me. Every hike along a laughing
lake nudges, every singing stream speaks.
Sunsets, daffodils, starry skies and soaring eagles tug at my sleeve,
reminding me of the One who created them and says, “I’m here!”
If I look, I find myself surrounded by awe,
by God tossing testimonies at us like darts on a board: “I am! I am!”
Have you ever done the same? If so, when?
You may live in the mountains, desert, plain or prairies, but wherever
you are, can you pause a moment and open your eyes and ears?
Do you, like me, ever wonder how we can live
in a world dripping with wonder and majesty and lose sight of the Wonder
Maker? We do, don’t we? We get so used to grace that we become
jaded. So familiar with faithfulness
that we yawn. God’s daily care,
protection, and lovingkindness? A tomb
minus a body? Hand me another pillow.
Worse yet, we demand more. God provides a house and we want a bigger one. He opens doors to a new job and we demand a
quick promotion. A reliable Chevy and we
want a BMW. More signs. More proof.
More wonders. As if God resides
in an Aladdin’s lamp, a cosmic genie we can summon at will, expecting Him to
grant our every wish.
Can I ask you something? Have you lost your sense of awe? Are you reluctant to let your jaw drop, to
suck in your breath and chime a carillon of “wow’s”?
Why?
Maybe the frequency of wonders blinds us to
their beauty. Wrapped in regularity, we
yawn at the passage of seasons, shrug at the complexity of snowflakes, take children
and grandparents for granted. We swap
the extraordinary for the everyday.
Theology may “explain” the miraculous.
Science may chart a map to the land of humdrum. Statistics stifle our oos and ahs.
Don’t be fooled.
Do you want to see the Lord’s face, witness
His majesty? Then dig out your sense of
awe. The next time you hear a wren
warble, smell a honeysuckle bloom, stroke a baby’s cheek, or stare in mute
marvel at a soaring Sequoia tree, pay attention. I have it on good authority that if you
listen, you’ll hear His Majesty’s whisper: “I’m here!”
Kristine Lowder
A graduate of Biola University, Kristine Lowder has authored ten books and contributed to more than fifty ezines, blogs, and other publications, both electronic and print. She enjoys hiking, reading, camping and exploring the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their four sons. Her latest release, an historical novel, can be found at: http://www.lsfi.org/moodle/mod/resource/view.php?id=389.Lowder
View all writing pieces by Kristine Lowder