Only God

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”

(Genesis 1:1)

Reflection:

Today more and more people are moving into the cities. As the cities grow and expand, increasingly our eyes, ears, mouths and noses are filled with man made things, and our attention directed to the needs that only these things, supposedly, can meet. And even although all that we make has come from God’s provision we tend to overlook this as we read labels that say, “Made in China,” etc.  Even the countryside has less of an impact upon us today as we speed through it. We need to stop every now and then and just look at what God has made. A man called Joyce Kilmer did, and he wrote Trees:

 

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair,

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

 

I first heard this when it was sung by Paul Robeson, with his deep almost melancholic voice. It built, slowly and powerfully, to the final line – which then came across with crystal clear finality. I have never been able to look at a tree in the same way since.

Whether covered in delicate blossoms, rippling green leaves, blazing Autumn colours, or standing bare and proud through the pale days of Winter, a tree has its own story to tell. It is a story of life, and the God of Life. A story of Yesterday and Today and Tomorrow. A story of Crucifixion and Resurrection.  A story of Hope.  A never-ending story. A story with one focus only all the days of its life – upwards, ever upwards towards God.

Response:

Take time today to look at a tree – to see it and to marvel. Tell God.

Prayer:

Father God, please  open my eyes to the wonder of your creation and, through it, to marvel at You. Amen.

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(Sergeant Kilmer died, likely immediately, from a sniper’s bullet to the head near the village of Seringes, in France, on July 30, 1918 at the age of 31)