But the basic reality of
God is plain enough. Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and
thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see
what their eyes can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his
divine being. So nobody has a good excuse.
Romans 1:20, The Message
For three more days I arrived at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit early
in the morning and stayed into the evening, watching monitor numbers and
lights, feeding and holding, singing and rocking. For diversion, I walked
around the large medical center, visited the gift shop and obstetrics nurses,
and occasionally napped in the parent’s lounge just around the corner from
Cory’s room.
Southern California’s normally mild
spring weather turned vengeful and the first week of March brought rain and
flooding to the area. I observed nature’s spectacle from the large window
plates next to Cory’s bed. Actually, I not so much observed as absorbed,
sitting and watching in wide-eyed rapture as immense puddles formed in the
parking lot and the wind bent the thin, towering eucalyptus trees. Rain and
wind performed in concert as they obscured the street and blurred traffic
lights. Accompanying water droplets cascaded rapidly in vertical patterns down
the slick, immense windows, looking at times like frantic, speeding motorists
on a California freeway. At other times they looked like vehicles in a pileup.
It was all so fascinating. Beautiful. And I kept asking myself: Why haven’t I observed it in such a way
before? Or taken the time to observe it? The performance captured my
attention as though I’d never before witnessed anything like its simple, mesmerizing
choreography.
I experienced the same potent
emotion my first drive home from the hospital and on every morning’s return
trip. The hills were so graceful and alluring, the vegetation so fresh and
verdant. The wild lilacs were in prolific bloom due to the unusually abundant
moisture, and the plants produced brilliant, purple clumps of showy exhibition
for miles along the freeway. Our own bright yellow, orange and shock-pink ice
plant had exploded into a spectacular botanical carpet attracting an assortment
of iridescent butterflies and honeybees by the thousands.
And I continued to experience it all
as though I’d never seen it before, like a child seeing and studying the wonder
of God’s creation for the first time. I wanted to grab it, inhale it. Capture
it! I found it impossible to be satiated by the display of beauty and life
bursting forth in awakening after weeks of quiescent rest.
I prayed fervently that I might
never lose that feeling; that I might never again look complacently or
indifferently upon a tree, a sunset, a quiet flurry of snowflakes or a single
grass blade. I wanted to stop, deliberately drink in God’s creation, and be
compelled to stand silent—to ponder Him and really know the One responsible for
all of that stunning creation.
It was such a perfect time to have a
baby. A baby to celebrate the renewal of life! A baby to remind me of God’s
promise: that as long as the earth remains, seedtime and harvest shall not
fail.
A reminder that God Himself forever
remains the same.
______________________________________
NEXT WEEK: Homecoming…
______________________________________
Until next week,
Thanks for
joining me!
Blessings,
Andrea
Bee on rosea ice
plant photo credit: <a
href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/napdsp/4869835181/">nate2b</a>
via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a
href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>
Orange and red
ice plant photo credit: <a
href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/parksdh/13373523955/">D.H.
Parks</a> via <a
href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a
href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">cc</a>
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