He Paints the Sky

I took an extra long walk this morning, rising early to greet the day.

The world seemed hushed and sleepy, and I realized:

Quiet and Beauty are exquisite rebellions to our shrieking world.

It had been a lengthy few weeks of nonstop meetings and conversations—good things, mind you–but I had reluctantly played hooky from long walks and quiet writing hours for too many days in a row. I felt the loss gnawing at my bones.

I was parched; withering on the inside.

So I silenced my phone and made plans.

My introverted heart twirled in delight as I laced up and bolted outside, crunching through autumn’s leaves, maneuvering the winding trail, a happy student of broad maples burning their last fiery hurrah of my favorite season.

I spied cardinals, chickadees, and sparrows, their birdsong a tender morning melody. Two hawks soared, effortlessly looping the heavens above the tallest treetops, majestic against the cold, cobalt sky.

Pausing at the lake, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with crisp air, marveling at the autumnal palette of colors mirrored in still waters. A wood stove burned and the rich, smoky scent of autumn swirled, thin plumes of smoke etching enchantment in the morning sky.

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One summer, a few years ago, I was reveling in a morning walk, when I happened upon a cluster of people murmuring, hunched low and pointing. As I neared, I imagined they had spotted an unusual insect or an injured bird, or a rare flower.

But no.

They were pointing at a handful of plastic toys, neatly staged at the base of a tree two feet from the sidewalk. A miniature-sized plastic family of four, seated at a teensy yellow table.

How did this get here? said one, hands to hips.

Who do they belong too? said another, eyebrows pressed.

What is the meaning? said a fellow, swatting a fly from his neck.

At least five adults stood mystified by a child’s toys. The group snapped endless pictures and texted them at lightning speed.

And so it goes.

The loudest voices—born from worldly chatter—have become the world’s echo chamber. We neglect the quiet beauty of God’s creation.

I resumed walking and with each step forward reminded myself:

Look up at the trees, and down at the wildflowers.

Close your eyes and feel the whisper of the wind against your face.

Pay attention to the majesty of the unfolding seasons.

Hear the purr of the ocean and consider all that lies beneath those deep waves.

Poke around in the soil and plant some seeds, giving thanks as those shoots grow tall and pretty.

Stuff the bird feeders and watch the darlings flock.

Sit on the front porch and study the sunlight flitting through every leaf and branch.

Make footprints and snow angels in winter’s first snowfall.

And thank the Lord who created it all.

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Go ahead, I dare you. Sign your own permission slip and exit the daily rigamarole. (No one will do it for you.) Awaken extra early and pull a soft hoodie over your head. Lace up your sneakers and slip outside to revel in God’s creation.

Everything else will keep for a bit.

Your soul hungers for quiet.

Be still and know that I am God. – Psalm 46:10

Your soul thirsts for beauty.

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.– Psalm 19:1

God is the Master Artist, and his workmanship deserves our utmost attention and praise.

Will you look up?

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Outwardly, I have little to show for my morning walks as I linger with Quiet and Beauty.

And that in itself is lovely, is it not?

A heart purposefully attuned to the quiet wonders of God?

God paints the morning sky and the evening sunset. He creates pillowy clouds and icy air, breezes, rolling mountains, and vast plains. The stars and moon are his handiwork. Our Sovereign Maker designs every sequoia, pine, and maple, and every ant, chipmunk, bird, and beast is his.

Quiet and Beauty are exquisite rebellions to our shrieking world.

What a shame to neglect the canvas of God.

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Both photos taken along my walking path.