Glorious and gracious Father, as I pray this earlier this week, lightning was dancing across the skyline of the still-dark dawn. Thunder was rumbling as the welcomed late autumn showers fall. Soon you will start to paint our trees with the kaleidoscopic glory of the next season.
Slow me down, Father. Slow me down in the coming days to savor nature’s declaration of your glory. I’ve been way too busy, and I don’t want to waste the upcoming glory of autumn. Tune my ears to hear what you want to teach me about yourself through the things you have made.
The pouring forth of nature-speak is endless, wondrous, and sumptuous—a visual, auditory, aromatic smorgasbord of delights. How can anyone with any degree of sensual awareness ponder creation and not worship you, the Creator of all things?
Father, you invented the sonic wonder of waves crashing on the shoreline. You created the mesmerizing sparkle in my son’s eyes. It was you who designed the Swiss Alps—irrepressible in their power to draw forth awe from my soul. You hand paint every trout in the world. You’re responsible for the permanent smile on the face of a dolphin. It's you who put the crunch in toffee and the aroma in coffee. You gave the gift of melody to The Beatles and the gift of symphony to Beethoven. You are the envy of every artist who studies sunrises and sunsets, some of your best and most daily work.
Topping everything you have done, it was you, Father, who gave Jesus for us. Not content just to be a magnificent Creator, you choose to be a merciful Redeemer. Oh, how we praise you . . . oh, how we praise you! We pray in Jesus’ peerless name. Amen.