Wonderstruck (7 page)

Scripture affirms that God speaks through the chattering and clattering, crunching and scrunching, pittering and pattering, yet I’ve been unresponsive.

The scientific community is also discovering the outdoors as a divine elixir. Researchers at the University of Michigan determined that participants’ memory performance and attention spans improved by 20 percent after an hour of interacting with nature. They also discovered the benefits of the outdoors were the same whether the temperature was 80 degrees and sunny or 25 degrees and frigid—though the study acknowledged participants enjoyed exercising outdoors more in the late spring than the middle of winter.
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Scientists in Sweden found that joggers who exercise in settings with trees and landscape views felt more rejuvenated and wrestled with fewer bouts with anxiety, anger, or depression than those who completed the same exercise regimen in an urban setting.
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And Australian researchers believe the sudden skyrocket in nearsightedness—myopia—among youth is due to young people spending less time outdoors where their eyes learn to focus on longer distances.
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I recently stumbled on the groundbreaking book by conservationist
Richard Louv,
The Nature Principle
, which explores these studies and many more. Louv points out that for the first time in history, more than half of the world’s population lives in towns and cities rather than more rural environments. The traditional ways humans interacted with creation are disappearing. As we enter the age of electronic connectivity, we’re becoming less connected to our natural environment. The result is that many of us are suffering from nature-deficit disorder, which he defines as “an atrophied awareness, a diminished ability to find meaning in the life that surrounds us, whatever form it takes.”
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He argues this reduction in our lives has a direct impact on our physical, mental, and societal health.

Reflecting on Louv’s definition and studies from the scientific community, I can’t help but think “atrophied awareness” also affects our spiritual lives. We know time in the outdoors affects our physical bodies. When we leave our cubicles and step into nature, the environment demands that we hone our senses. We must gauge depth perception, utilize peripheral vision, respond to instinct, and finely tune
proprioception
, the awareness of our body’s position through balance and movement—physical engagements that lie dormant whenever we become mouse potatoes, spending day after day and week upon week staring at a computer screen.

But what about atrophied spiritual awareness? What if the reduction in time spent outdoors impacts our relationship with God and the restorative work he wants to do in our lives?

Spending time outdoors has a way of shifting our perspective from inward to outward as we see the delicacies and intricacies of God’s creation. From the sun-bleached sandy beaches of the coast to the seemingly endless plains, we capture snapshots of God’s power and precision, his connectedness and intimate care. One of the great wonders of creation is that God uses our natural world to alert us to his presence.

From the opening pages of Genesis, God reveals his nature—in nature. The story of creation broadcasts the distinctiveness of our God as the source of life. All-powerful, wildly creative, infinitely wise, God is the supreme ruler. His throne isn’t founded in suspicion or threat but blessing and celebration. Creation divulges the goodness of God as he declares the good, good, good of creation.

Unlike other religions attempting to find guidance amidst the stars of the sky or the fear of the unknown, our God hangs stars, slings comets, and designs sea creatures. Apart from him, they do not exist. In the face of blackness and chaos, our God speaks illumination and order. As the pinnacle of all he makes, God handcrafts humanity in his own image, entrusts us with dominion, and insignias us for relationship with himself.

Sitting in the darkness of a sky turned wholly to night, I speculate: if God spoke creation into existence, should we be surprised when creation speaks back to us about God?

The sights surround us. The sounds summon us. The wonder of creation beckons.

Scripture sparkles resplendent with such moments, reminding us that creation is a live theater that invites us to experience and comprehend God more. The psalmist reminds us God’s faithfulness is woven into the canopy of the heavens,
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his loving-kindness displays itself throughout the earth.
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The subterranean depths of the ocean speak of the wisdom of God’s judgments,
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and the horizons herald how far God removes our sins.
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God’s rule reveals itself in day, night, and seasons: his voice rumbles in the thunder.
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On the days we begin to question God’s power or sovereignty, the psalmist points to the hail, fire, wind, and snow as elements that obey God’s command.
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In the moments we start to question God’s saving grace, the psalmist recalls the miracles of salvation in the sea and storm to remind us no one resides beyond God’s rescue.
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Creation’s comparisons provide firm warnings against self-destructive and foolish behavior. Scoffers are like empty grain husks, and those who lack understanding like stubborn mules.
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Egomaniacs who overestimate themselves are billowing clouds that never produce rain,
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and it’s better to encounter a mama bear robbed of her cubs than a fool.
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The psalmist alludes to God’s tenderheartedness and teachings tucked into creation when describing the place a barn swallow finds to lay her eggs.
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Picturing the scene makes me smile. One day, a mother bird searches for a secure place to build a home. The bird finds a crevice near the altar where
the burnt offerings of the temple are consumed and begins the process of building a mud nest. She darts to a nearby water source that provides the much-needed moist firmament and shapes the first mudball in her mouth. With the help of her monogamous mate, they build a cup-shaped home piece by piece with more than a thousand small balls.

I speculate: when the religious leaders caught on to the birds’ construction plans, did any of them propose moving the nest?

The scripture doesn’t say. Instead, Psalm 84 celebrates that blessing befalls everyone who dwells in the house of the Lord—even the birds! From their nooks and from their crannies, the winged creatures join the chorus of worship in the temple. The choice imagery reminds us the invitation to reside with God extends to everyone. Those who choose to respond will find fellowship with a God who sees, hears, cares, and provides.

Centuries after the psalmist penned these lines, Jesus used these little creatures to remind his followers that God takes great care with winged creatures. Though they don’t plant or reap or store harvests in barns, God feeds them. If God’s care and provision is so generous for a bird, how much more generous will God be with us? Jesus notes that a single sparrow doesn’t die without God attending the funeral. If God cares so much for these creatures, how much more does God care for us?
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Such realities provide insights into the Creator and his infinite wisdom. Maybe that’s one reason the outdoors is so rejuvenating. The sky, the land, the vegetation, the animals all
speak of the power, the majesty, the goodness of God. They remind us of God’s presence in our world, strengthening our faith, comforting our soul, and encouraging us to continue pursuing him. The vastness of creation trumpets God’s transcendence and immanence—allowing us to bask in the wonder of both God’s enormity and infinitesimal intricacy.

For me, spending time in creation is a portal to connect with God. Almost every day, I spend an hour walking the trails around our home. The seasoned paths provide an opportunity for me to recalibrate my mind, emotions, and body as thoughts sprout and creativity blossoms.

On that unforgettable evening of horseback riding years ago, the sky held a pinkish red hue much the same color as I see tonight. Both then and on this night, I’ve been arrested by the wonder of creation—moments that stir my hunger to know God more.

If God creates such exquisiteness, how much more magnificent is the Creator? Even the most spectacular displays in the cosmos only hint at the splendor of God; the deepest insights into nature are shallow observations compared to the depth of the nature of God. Creation awakens me to God, inviting me to attune my senses to his presence and voice.

The wonder of creation is every encounter illuminates something about God. He is the One who formed distant galaxies and
our tender planet, and the fullness of creation belongs to him. God utilizes elements of creation to witness to his invisible attributes and character.

The mesmerizing beauty through my window leaves me breathless. I purse my lips and inhale mouthfuls of much-needed oxygen. All too soon, the color sharpens into rubies. I feel aglow.

Such beauty creates within me an aching, a longing deep within and far beyond myself. I sense the warmth that follows any significant encounter with the handiwork of God. I don’t want to move. Too many months have passed since I tasted such divine delicacy. Instead of looking for the holy glimpses in the dawn, the dusk, and everywhere between, I’ve slept through far too many of such moments. But tonight, God cast ten thousand rose petals across the landscape to awaken me to himself.

I’m wonderstruck that God will use everything from a winter horseback ride to the hues of the setting sun to draw us toward himself.

Have you awakened to the wonder of God in creation? Have you considered setting your alarm earlier to capture a sunrise or set an alarm in the evening so you don’t miss the sun dipping below the horizon? Will you trade moments in front of the computer for time in creation, maybe spending your lunch hour in a park, serenaded by birdsong and breeze? Will you develop rhythms in your life that foster spiritual vitality and a greater awareness of God?

Staring out my window, I can still make out the icy blanket
on the field below. The pomegranate tone fades to wild strawberries before vanishing into a deep slate grey. The first star appears in the night sky.

Through the beauty of alpenglow, I’m reminded of the foundational truth that God is light.
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I’m acutely aware of my need for God, the Great Luminary, to shimmer the miracle of light in me. I petition:
God, illuminate the hidden parts of my soul still dwelling in darkness. Brighten the areas of my life where I still cling to shadows. Soften the light through which I see others. Help me be a luminary of you. Amen
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S
PEEDING THROUGH LIFE AT WHAT
I
BELIEVED
was a healthy pace, I ran out of gas without as much as a flicker from the fuel warning light. I completed projects and checked off to-do lists without hesitation until I woke up one Monday feeling like a ghost of my former self, hollow and faintly present.