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Not Your Typical Church Lady

A Psalm

Sometimes it is best to just be in the moment. Sometimes it's best to look around and be thankful for the beauty around us. Embrace the order of creation, don't try to alter it. It is as it should be already. Our hands can make many things, but we should not infringe upon the perfection already set before us by the One Creator.

Dear Lord, Your majesty transcends the universe. It goes beyond anything I can see, smell, taste, hear or feel. It reaches from other universes that we aren't even aware of, the whole way to the smallest molecule and atom that we can't even see. Your voice booms in the thunder, frightening, powerful with unparalleled authority. You speak in the silence of new fallen snow- calm, peaceful, reassuring.

You created all of these things, these vast expanses that go on forever. And me, I'm nothing but the tiniest speck of dust in it, an insignificant nothing in the light of creation. And yet you look upon me with love and favor. You pick me up out of the pile; one little piece of sawdust from a heaping mountain of it and you say "My child, you are mine, you are important to me." Even a speck can be significant.

What is man that you are mindful of him?* You are in the wonder of life, the miracle of birth. You are in the simple pleasure of a cat taking a bath and in the beauty of a blooming Christmas cactus. You are in the comforting smell of wood burning in a fireplace and in the fragrance of a spring hyacinth. You are in the heavy frost and the glittering of sun like a thousand diamonds on the snow. Frozen ice encrusted branches shimmer like crystals in the sun. There is beauty even in the harshest of winter.

The deer, the coyote, the bear, the birds, they are protected from the cold by the works of your hand. They have no home of warm walls and yet they survive. You provide for your creatures.

The sun, the earth, the moon, they all revolve around their appointed places and at the appointed times. They move fluidly and gracefully, bringing about the changing seasons.

You have created all of this and it is good, though the word "good" does not seem "good" enough to describe these wonders.

The hope of tulips and daffodils bursting from the ground, the happy chirp of birds in the morning, the sun coming up over the mountains – you've given us these gifts. They show us even nature proclaims your praises.

Sunrises and sunsets, painted in palettes of pink, purple, gold, and blue, stretch across the horizon for all to see and yet each person down here gets their own individual view of it, each varying slightly. Only the true Artist of the Universe could direct the colors with flawless perfection. And like a true artist, You are always improving on your work, making subtle changes to the picture each morning and evening.

The peaks and valleys of your earth offer their own views to thrill the mind and soul. The eagles and the turkey buzzards look down upon the world and they know the job you've given them. The earthworm looks up and also knows its task. We are here in the middle not always knowing what we're supposed to be doing. Dear Creator, turn our eyes and hearts back to you. Let us be one with nature instead of against it. Keep our meddling hands off of your artwork.

The heavy perfume of lilacs, the earthy scent of dirt, the smell of rain on a warm summer day – You have given them to us to take pleasure in and appreciate. Sea salt on an ocean breeze makes the heart soar. It lifts the spirits as we lift our heads to take it in. Creator of All, thank you for these enhancing touches.

The smell of a baby's head and skunky puppy breath, these are special gifts because they don't last long. We revel in them when we come upon them because they are fleeting and must be enjoyed in the moment, not later. We thank you for these little treasures.

We give ourselves credit and honor for our great imaginations when we create things, but in comparison to you, we are like two year olds scribbling nonsense on a piece of paper with a crayon. We don't even come close to the splendor that you create. But like a good father, you take our bad artwork and hang it on your fridge and tell us you love us. Thank you for that.

*Psalm 8:4a

 

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