SURPRISING GIFTS FROM GOD

Over the last few days, my Jesus Calling devotional has brought to my attention two gifts from God that I never thought of as gifts. When we thank God for His goodness, we often think of family, money, health, and, of course, salvation. But the August 3 entry read, “This ability to verbalize is an awesome privilege granted only to those I created in My image.”

Because a friend of mine recently suffered a stroke and can speak but a few words, I began to appreciate on a new level the gift of speech. The stroke has also left her unable to write, so she is basically without means of communication. How would I fare under those conditions? Talk about frustration! It truly is a unique gift mankind has, being able to speak.

So, I’m adding speech to my “thank list.”

The other item came up on July 30. “How precious are My children who are awed by nature’s beauty . . . Even before you knew Me personally, you responded to My creation with wonder. This is a gift. . . .” This spoke directly to me, because it is true. Long before I had a relationship with God, I was awed by creation. (Kinda worshiped it before I figured things out.)

When I discovered my ability to learn scientific principles, especially in the field of biology, I pursued a degree focusing on environmental and plant studies. One of my first classes was a Field Biology class at Nassau Community College. What a way to spend a summer! Our field trips took us from the Sterling Forest in Tuxedo, NY, to the tide pools of Montauk Pt., on the tip of LI.

 A whole new world of wonder opened up to me—forests, beaches, grasslands, even bogs and swamps—with an assortment of plant and animal life typical to each ecosystem. Do you have any idea how many species of plants there are on Long Island? I had a whole book full of leaf specimens I collected. And if you spend much time with me outdoors, you’ll discover that I still like to identify the plants around me. Can't help myself.

I was 25 years old when I noticed for the first time that the flowers bloomed on the trees before the leaves appeared. I was dumb struck. How could I have missed it all those years? It began with the cherry blossoms and magnolias, then the forsythia. My goodness, I had lost time to make up for! After that, I didn’t just look at flowers anymore, I inspected them, studied them. I recognized the reproductive parts in diverse species, whether they were monocots or dicots, dioecious or monoecious. I even loved saying the words.

And the pollen! If you look at it under a microscope, it’s different for every species. That’s one of the ways forensic scientists can tell if you were at the scene of the crime in the woods behind your house—telltale pollen.

Everything came alive for me at that time—scents, colors, sounds. It was exciting to see the diversity of nature and understand how species are related. During that time of discovery and self-awareness, I found that the sound of a bird at daybreak, or the effect of the sun shining on new leaves as they moved in the breeze often made me cry. I didn’t understand why, and I always thought it was some kind of defect. But, some birds, like the mockingbird, sing their hearts out. It's deeply stirring.

And I began to write about it in poetry, allowing emotions to percolate out of my soul. Here’s one I wrote in 1972. (There were other forces at work here too. It was, after all, the seventies. But I’m not proud of that part of my “exploration,” and I’m not gonna give it any legs.)

Sunrise in Massachusetts

I watched the sunrise in Massachusetts this morning,

The ethereal mist clinging to green slopes.

It was like being born,

            mysterious and chilly.

The sun cast pink shadows over the skies;

The mountains shed their dark shrouds,

Reached proudly toward

            the wide expanse of blue.

And dawn finally burst forth in intimate mother-of-pearl clouds,

That began to dissolve like whipped cream.

A shock of orange blazed from behind

            a purple mountain.

It leapt forth, heaving itself upon the morning,

            Cutting through the chill air,

            Sifting through clouds, mist, trees,

            Stirring up the land with warmth,

Spilling light and color

            over the early morning landscape.

I breathed deeply the fresh morning air;

Smelled the soil, grass, and trees.

And breakfasted

            on the break of day.            

I loved being outside, the forest as my cathedral. I really did love the forest the best, despite being an Islander with salt water in my veins. 

The forest behind my house in Redding released a warm, earthy, cinnamon smell I’ll never forget. There were loads of backyard visitors, too. And the birds! There were all these new ones, I'd never seen before. But don't get me started on birds again!

So it was a gift, that yearning, that longing to be in the woods, the appreciation for the smallest plant beneath the cool dark canopy, the joy of discovering a Solomon’s Seal in my backyard. A gift. All along, a gift from God to be like that. Thank you, Lord.

The take-away for me is that my responsibility is to use the gift of words (the spoken and the written) to proclaim God’s glory, to instill in others the awe and love for nature that He deposited in me. I have three grandsons that hear a lot about it, too. I want them to be awed and thrilled with all the beauty God created. Because the whole earth is full of His glory.