I woke to gentle light pouring in on the first day of spring.
Pulling the curtains back, I am still not yet accustomed to the dancing of sun on the inlet below.
A symphony of song birds bid me good morning and the gentle tune my mother would sing me as a child lingers…
Good Morning to you. Good morning to you. Good morning, good morning. it’s lovely to see you!
With the window cracked, I can smell the great outdoors.
Spring is coming.
People walk the wooden water path.
Goodness I love where I live.
For far too long, I’ve praised the creation of my tiny inlet village, rather than the one who’s hand brought it into existance.
And it wasn’t until I read those words that my ignorance struck me.
Every time you feel in God’s creatures something pleasing and attractive, do not let your attention be arrested by them alone, but, passing them by, transfer your thought to God and say: “O my God, if Thy creations are so full of beauty, delight and joy, how infinitely more full of beauty, delight and joy art Thou thyself, Creator of all!” – Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain
As I’ve counted my gifts, my mind has awed at the mundane graces before me. My body has bowed to the luxuries of everyday ordinary. My soul has found solace in a thanksgiving harvest of simple.
But it’s stopped there most days.
Sure I can acknowledge The One behind these hidden gems- can recognize the need for orchestration in the treasure hunt of creation. But have I truly pondered it each time I’ve discovered my next prize?
Like the song birds… do I truly consider that their chorus resembles the way He sings over me, in anticipation of my waking?
The wind rustling through the forest trees and the dandelions swaying in the fields…they, the way He dances over me in joy and celebration of simply who. I am. not. what. I’ve. done.
The reflection off the waters edge too striking to simply pass by – the vary nature of my own reflection in Him.
After all, I too was created in his imagine and am being refined more and more each day into the likeness of His precious Son!
I see it now, as the scales of ingratitude chip off my eyes.
My heart feels full. Almost radiant.. what is that?
Hope, He whispers, Longing for me.
A deep desire for the wholeness only I can give. .
Your heart knows it; it feels it.
You’ve entered my gates with thanksgiving, my child, and you’ve feasted your eyes on glory- looked straight into the eyes of your very creator.
I taste my miracle. Eucharisteo in flesh and real life.
This is the art of joy, of gratitude and praise!
Praise of The Creator, not the created.