A-walking through a burial ground
as autumn’s bleak winds buffet me,
I hear plainchant that makes no sound
come from a church behind bare trees.

As I wade through seas of fallen leaves
that blanket tombs of fallen folk,
the whitewashed church’s lichened eaves
are loosely draped like a priestly cope.

Behind the church’s wooden door
comes silence sounding out a song.
Its words unsaid, no rigid score,
to the whirlwind this primal hymn belongs.

Well fortified by thick stone walls
a-quarried from the craggy heart
of this carved earth’s basalt halls,
this house still plays its sacred harp.

For though someday the sun will rise
above this temple’s gaping ruin,
its oaken rafters open to the skies,
there will go on the formless tune

whose notes compose creation’s tale
that’s told unwritten in lettered fire.
In my lungs I breathe the words
to join someday the hidden choir.

With that, this door did not lead inside
that bastion built for worshipping.
Her song instead had opened wide
my spirit for all this life will bring.

In the teardropped dew of golden hour
as dusk-sun dips below the edge,
an angel of bronze upon a stone bower
keeps watch as nighttime’s fingers stretch.

Across the spans of painted sky,
one by one bright sparks appear:
constellations form as portraits high,
a hunter, two bears, points on the sphere.

These starry creatures connect the dots,
parade across the firmament
and crown the angel deep in thought,
twelve stars, a wreathed encirclement.

The hunter wheels around the dome
of charcoal sky. His thrice-jeweled belt
shines out to mark him as he still roams
in pursuit of where scorpions dwelt.

Above him run two starry bears,
one’s tail-tip pointing to the north.
Though he lays his trapper‘s snares
the scorpion always hurries forth.

The angel watches the hunt go on
as it’s been since this our rock was made.
She hums her part in creation’s song
that set it all turning on time’s old lathe.

There in the shade by moonlight cast,
this angel smiles at the pageantry
of starry figures marching past
to mark her maker’s majesty.

Take a look outside and relay what you see
The rainbow, the dew, mountain and tree
We look at them, yes but try to look deeper still
There is beauty complexity and a purpose to fill
The glory of creation reflecting the creator
Beauty so divine nothing could be greater
Who can look at nature and not be moved?
Who can truly see and say God cannot be proved?
Everywhere I turn there is beauty and grace
It brings a tear to my eye and a smile on my face
In a society so focused on progress and speed
We lose so much of what we desperately need
We miss the signs, and miracles and wonders
That are there just waiting to be found
The beauty of creation our Lord in glory crowned
So dance in the sun and run in the field
In smelling the roses, God’s love is revealed
The rainbow a promise of forgiveness and light
The stars to guide us through the night
Everything in life so perfectly designed
To try to comprehend just blows my mind
So next time don’t just look, but truly see
The majesty, the splendor, the art of God’s glory

"Doth not all nature around me praise God? If I were silent, I should be an exception to the universe. Doth not the thunder praise Him as it rolls like drums in the march of the God of armies? Do not the mountains praise Him when the woods upon their summits wave in adoration? Doth not the lightning write His name in letters of fire? Hath not the whole earth a voice? And shall I, can I, silent be?"

- Charles Spurgeon

"God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars."

- Martin Luther

Lord thank you for the gift of nature and creation. So often, we are so preoccupied with life that we miss all that life and life in you has in store. Help us to see your fingerprints all over and have the childlike joy in the smallest things. Bless us Lord and open our eyes and hearts to not just look, but truly see your beauty and how much you mean to me. Amen

The connotation—the impulse.
The urge, and the strike.
A candle, a lighter—
the flame that ignites.

Sitting on the floor, in my room that night;
pen on paper, those words in my head.
Then the flame burned the papers—a fire so red.

You would not even exist without women

How dare you try to claim them

How dare you try to own their bodies
To control their wombs

How dare you disrespect the mother that gave you life

How dare you hate us when we created you

As a flower blooming gently
Opens up to greet the sun
The soul that feels His warmth
Opens up to God's own Son

As a spring river runneth over
Pregnant with melted snow
Filled with seed of love and life
Our lives burst forth and overflow

As a bird so sweet rejoicing
Sings forth in joyful chorus
The spirit sings divine melody
In the gifts that He has for us

As love is expressed and given flesh
As new life comes from the womb
So is His life, now born within us
We: the bride, and He: the groom