Just ask the animals, and they will teach you.
Ask the birds of the sky, and they will tell you.
Job 12:7
A low sun reaches across the sky with long, golden fingers. It is quiet here except for a strange, almost eerie chorus of insects left over from summer. I pause in my walk just to look and listen.
“Oh, God, it’s so beautiful,” I whisper reverently.
Currents of evening air descend on the grasses that still hold the mild warmth of the day. A soft evening haze is born, and the earth celebrates with little white seed puffs that float in the air to catch the last rays. A night owl gives out a first timid note.
“Oh, God,” I repeat. “Surely heaven is here.”
I actually do suspect that heaven pokes its fingers through the darkness of this world here and there, touching the finite and reminding us of an Eden we have forgotten.
Sometimes I know it—I see it or hear it, and sometimes I even taste it.
It’s heavenly beauty given to encourage us that we were not actually created for a finite life of destruction and sadness. I think this is the Lord’s quiet calling to our eternal inner man through our temporal outer one.
It’s grace.
Written By Becky Coursen
Photo by Mantas Hesthaven
