One of the things God has done with my neighborhood, in just the past two weeks or so, is to turn it riotously green–with plenty of colorful punctuation by all kinds of flowers, wild and domestic. He does it right in front of us, and yet I can’t see it happening. Time-lapse photography would show it as it goes, but it’s too subtle for the unaided human eye to follow.
Yes, Very Wise Individuals–the kind who think that they themselves would make pretty respectable gods, much better than the real God–would say, “What do you mean, God? It’s just the mindless, mechanical functioning of nature, the working out of chance events over vast quantities of time,” blah-blah. I am convinced that what they’re really saying is, “Give us your money, and give us power over you.”
The bees know better.
An old hymn concludes, “This is my Father’s world, and let me ne’er forget/ That though the wrong seems oft so strong,/ He is the ruler yet.”
God’s own handiwork bears witness to him constantly, and is a source of comfort. The green leaves, the flowers, the infinite moods of the sky, the dance of bees in the hive–they all tell us, always, the same message:
“God is nigh.”
All the time.