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