Deep in the Woods

There’s a mysterious place deep in the woods. It’s far off the beaten path where no human has ventured. Untouched. Pure nature.

No boot prints are found, but there are footprints. Forest dwellers.

Creature paths appear random and meandering, but they are not. These trails are specific and intentional. They know where their food comes from and the safest way to get there. Provision. Trust.

Nestled into a craggy rock formation high on a forested slope, a spring bubbles up and over the roots and rocks, splashing its way down. It’s been bubbling and sparkling for years. Following a well-worn route along the forest floor, the stream bed weaves its way through gullies, towering pines, aspens, and mountain meadows. Sometimes the clear water tumbles and crashes over various forest debris, faster and faster as it descends. Other times, it slows and spreads, creating deep pools of cool water that laze along, peacefully chattering in swirls and eddies. Life-giving.

The absence of humans doesn’t mean the absence of sound. The deep woods are a sound garden of their own. Nature has a voice, and it’s primeval and beautiful.

The pines and aspens shiver and whisper with the wind as it sighs through branches and moves along tree trunks, creaking and bending—a symphony of sorts.

Sticks, dead leaves, and pine needles rustle and snap as unseen creatures forage and spy under fallen trees and twisting vines.

The babble of birdsong in the forest canopy sounds chaotic at first listen. But the trills, melodies, and harmonies blend into an exciting and joyful concerto that echoes through the trees, along the stream, and over the meadows.

Nightfall has its own unique orchestra. Whispery feathers blend with the haunting call of the owl in flight; it is otherworldly and beautiful. The stealthy sounds of night hunters and creepers as they prowl, hide, and call are eerie and supernatural.

This untouched slice of nature is a beautiful testament to Divine creation. The One who created all things sees and hears the happenings in the deep woods. It brings Him joy in its purity. The creaks and shushing of the wind in the canopy, rushing water, and the groans of nature are like a symphony of worship. His creation cries out to Him with joyful noises and complete trust in His provision. It is pleasing incense and a thing of deep beauty to Him who sits on the throne. Devoid of human voices, even the rocks cry out to the Father who holds the world in His hands.

Psalm 150:6 NLT “Let everything that breathes sing praises to the Lord! Praise the Lord!”

The Forest Knows…

The forest knows her name. She feels it’s gentle pull and call. Come and rest, re-center, and decompress. Melodies and harmonies of peace, joy, and ancient things.

Busyness, worry, and overthinking also know her name and they’ve been calling – shouts, demands, and confusing voices. Chaos circles looking for a crack, a chink, a tiny fissure to slink into.

It’s hard to let go of worry and expectations. Fear tells her that if she rests, breathes too deeply, and allows expectations to sit awhile, all sorts of disasters and sinister things may happen. What-if…

Lately there is a restless feeling that pricks and swirls in her mind and soul; a sensation of something just ahead slipping out of sight, waiting around the next bend in the path. Not as a fear-based shout, but a whispered song to come, explore, release – seek, find, and be blessed. Be healed.

She listens and makes her way to the forest. Her favorite path winding through Redwoods – so old, so wise, so healing – invites a quieted mind and tender heart open to the Divine whispers held in creation. Golden silence alive with the sounds of nature. Everything interwoven with His breath, His hands, His healing, and His peace.

The safety and wisdom she’s seeking seeps into her soul. There is rest and healing here. No expectations. Creator and creation singing to her spirit of love, rejuvenation, and acceptance. Supernatural, holy, ancient things are all around. Healing, mysterious, and deep.

The cracks and fissures from living life are filled in with His love, protection, and compassion. She won’t be the same when she leaves here and that is a divine and beautiful thing.

Deep calling to deep in the midst of Divine creation. He knows her name – she will always be welcome, always be healed.

His Temple

I always find God in Nature. Standing under the towering Redwoods that have been there for thousands of years is so humbling.


God’s hands that formed these majestic trees–His presence still lingers, and swirls, and fills my lungs with heavenly breath. Supernatural, ancient, wise.


This is His temple. His creation, His wisdom, His joy. I feel Him closer here than most anywhere else.

Jars of Clay

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Pexels.com

The Potter is at His wheel. All around His workroom, heavenly beings wait in expectation of the Masterpiece. Some sing in Holy languages that interweave with His words of prophesy, purpose, and love. Their songs infuse the clay with unique gifts, peace, and immense value. An impartation of Himself. Holy. Supernatural. Mystery.

His workroom is sacred. Nothing enters without His permission. Each lump of clay is precious. The Potter knows the exact purpose, place, and circumstance for each vessel He creates, and not a thing is left out, forgotten, or rushed. The Triune Potter is intentional, specific, and perfect. Every jar created reflects the time, attention, and deep love He holds for it. His vision for each jar comes to life under His masterful hands, as the scars He knew He would bear for His creation brush up against me and you.

The roughness of His scars creates slight imperfections in the clay, which are intentional and beautiful to the Potter. He permits cracks and crevices, nooks and crannies that to human eyes are faults and defects. Not to Him. These cracks and broken spots allow others to get a glimpse of Him through us. We are permeated with Him; His breath, His love, and His peace; all the unique gifts that He placed in us. Through our chips and oddities, others who are searching for Him, who may have lost their way, or are traveling in the dark, will see His Light seeping out through our chinks and nooks as a beacon of hope and rest. Opportunities to allow Him to speak through us and offer compassion, acceptance, and peace to a weary fellow traveler. May others do this for us when we find ourselves lost and in need of Light and Hope. The beauty of a broken vessel.

Corinthians 4:7 NLT “We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”

Can You Hear Him?

On a summer night when cricket symphonies lull and soothe as the moon sails high and pinprick stars wink…He whispers in dark, nocturnal rustlings with deep, supernatural words of mystery.

When the wind shushes and sighs through the Redwood canopy as you hike and soak in the forest…He whispers timeless songs of creation.

Opening your eyes as a new day starts, before the mad rush of living takes over and you savor your morning coffee…He whispers an invitation, “Come and talk with me.”

As you putter in the garden, trimming and admiring the flowers…He whispers promises of new life and a season of rebirth in the rich scent of turned earth.

When the day is done and your tired body falls into those in-between moments before you drift off to sleep…He whispers words of rest and speaks to you in your dreams.

Can you hear Him?

When your heart feels heavy, you retreat to the hidden bench under the willow branches that skim over the pond…His whispers of healing and hope perfume the air around you.

When the cruel, hurtful words sting your heart, and tears spill over and down your cheeks…He whispers songs of love and belonging. He captures each tear. You are His.

As waves crash along the lonely beach and you fling your deepest needs and fears to the relentless tides…His whispers become a divine exchange, taking your hurt and giving you Himself. He is enough.

Taking that first frightening, tentative step of faith into something new and unknown…He whispers courage and strength into your mind, spirit, and body. He is with you. Worry must flee.

With pain so deep and raw that you have no words or tears left…His whispers become intercession in heavenly languages, traveling straight to the Holy of Holies.

Can you hear Him?

When loved ones are far away and your mind is full of frightening thoughts and the chaos of the unknown…He whispers safety and protection. Their names are written on the palm of His hands. He speaks peace, and fear bows.

When the world is filled with injustice, cruelty, and division…He whispers compassion and authority—He is King. There are none before Him. Alpha and Omega.

When self-reliance has taken its toll and you finally unclench your fists and cry to Him in exhaustion…He whispers gentle songs of rest and comfort. All is well, He’s got this.

And…

On the lighter days, when the hurry is hushed and you sit under the apple tree, talking to Him, thanking Him, and whispering that you love Him, an incense of thankfulness, praise, and love rises and dances its way to His throne. As the sacred aroma swirls and fans around Him, He sings, shouts, and prophesies over you with blessings, peace, and joy. Can you hear Him?

Moonglow

Thin, wispy clouds veil the bright moon as it sails high. The moonglow shining in the chilly air illuminates the garden casting eerie yet beautiful shadows – mysterious and exciting. The velvety black sky is the backdrop for the constellations and planets tossed into place by Your hands. Your divine fingerprints are everywhere. Your words continuously breathing life into all things – renewing, revealing, restoring.

The cold, bright moonlight falls across my pillow bathing my face in its glow. Chilly air puffs in through the partly open window above my bed. My thin quilt gives just enough warmth to be cozy and lovely. It feels peaceful and safe. I’m seen and known, even in seasons of darkness and shadows You will find me. The Light always pierces the darkness. Things unseen are always exposed by Your light. I’m never alone.

I drift off to sleep covered by moonlight, surrounded by Your whispers in the nighttime breeze. Your fingerprints dance over my face, my heart, and my spirit soothing, revealing, renewing, and healing. Hope flows and intertwines with deep peace and unconditional love, as Your lullabies of compassion and mercy swirl and gentle the hearts and minds of those You adore and carefully watch as they slumber.

Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

It is Good

Morning begins as the sky blushes pink.

Tinges of sunlight peek through tree branches brightening the dew that gathered on the leaf tips.

The first gentle birdsong of the day breaks through the quiet morning in the meadow.

Nature’s alarm clock for sleepy, nestled down creatures.

Twitching noses tentatively sniff the chilled air. Who’s passed through during the night?

With that first chirp, meadow life shifts into motion for another day.

Grasses and tall flowers sway with the breeze, their stems bending low as fat bumblebees sip and tiny birds snip at seeds and insects along the delicate leaves and petals.

A mountain stream chatters and sings as it makes its way over branches and rocks.

Teeming with life, furry creatures wait motionless along the edges of the stream for their breakfast of insects, tadpoles, and crawdads. A full smorgasbord!

Far off, the repetitive pecking of a woodpecker echoes off the surrounding trees, blending in harmony with the full chorus of birdsong that resounds in the meadow.

So much life, so much beauty. Divine fingerprints everywhere.

A warmer afternoon lulls and soothes the busy inhabitants of the meadow. The pace of hunting, gathering, and gossiping fades and slows.

Traveling along its Creator made path the sun begins the descent toward the horizon.

The light and air take on a different feel – cooling, dimming, winding down.

Ethereal. Supernatural.

The day dwellers begin their tasks of settling in as snug dens and cozy nests beckon.

Night falls and the moon and stars take over the sky.

 Night dwellers stretch, sniff the cooling air, and begin their routines. Their time in the meadow has a different energy than that of the day timers.

It is a time of quiet, stealth, and keen observation. Eyes and ears always alert.

They are just as busy as the day creatures, but go about things in a careful, hushed, and methodical way.

Moonlight and shadows are their friends as mystery and other worldliness take center stage.

His Divine Presence is here in the cover of night just as much as in the light of day.

He looks at all of creation and says, “It is good.”

Psalm 90:2

There is comfort and so much hope in this verse. Before the Earth existed, God was there. He is with you as you read this verse, and He is already in your tomorrow. His eyes are on you.

You are not lost in a crowd of millions and your voice doesn’t get drowned out by someone louder or histrionic.

You are seen and deeply treasured. Maybe sit with that for just a minute? Let it soak into your spirit. Peace be with you.

Just a Night…

It was Just a Night…

Imagine with me, if you will, what it may have been like for the shepherds on that holiest of nights, so many years ago.

The quiet hillside breathing silently under a clear, star-filled sky; the sound of their flocks settling in, like they always did, with murmurs, rustlings, and scrabbling with the occasional noisy bleat of lambs fussing for a warm spot next to the fluffy ewes.

Shepherds, ever watchful and alert, yet calm and ready for a typical, peaceful night. Perhaps they, too, scoot in close to the warm, fuzzy sheep as the night deepens and the air cools and chills.

Quiet conversations around a small fire and a simple meal, perhaps? Jokes and a recounting of the day wan and fade as the night falls deeper and silence blankets the hillside.

It was just a night until it wasn’t…

Imagine their quiet night suddenly interrupted by the sky exploding in radiant, holy light and sound, like nothing ever seen before—certainly nothing ever seen by a group of tired shepherds outside a sleepy village on a typical night. The terror and fear must have been palpable, washing over them like a terrible nightmare, until they heard the angel’s voice saying, “Don’t be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the City of David! And this is how you will recognize Him: You will find a baby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth!”

Add to this amazing announcement, this supernatural display, the addition of a vast host of the armies of heaven praising God and rejoicing at this beautiful, holy, saving gift just given to all people for all time. A gift that will never be fully understood—mocked, ridiculed, and murdered—yet the only gift that will love, redeem, and save your life and mine.

Imagine that first feeling of terror turning to incredible joy, unspeakable love, and supernatural peace that in all its Divine power was quite possibly unbearable—wild and fierce.

I can feel down to my very bones the uncontrollable need to fall to my knees in reverence, awe, fear, and worship before such an announcement! A Savior, the Messiah, the Holy One come to save—a divine encounter with the King of Kings and the heavenly host. The atmosphere must have been sizzling with a supernatural, divine portent.

When the angels departed, did the shepherds stand around arguing about what they experienced? Did they try to explain away this divine encounter with the supernatural as indigestion, an atmospheric distortion, strange cloud formations, or tainted wine? Did they minimize this gift of love so deep that human minds cannot fathom it? No, they didn’t. They believed. They sought out the Savior to see him, worship him, and accept the love gift freely given to them. They accepted it and shared it with others.

I don’t believe they slept much that night. Returning to their now still and silent hillside, I wonder if they spoke. Did they attempt to recount the events they had just witnessed? Did they fully understand the impact of what they beheld in that lowly stable? How does one explain the Divine? I wonder what changes took place silently in their hearts. Mary quietly treasured all she witnessed that night in her heart, and I believe the shepherds did the same.

It was just a night on a hillside with their sheep until it wasn’t.

1. Luke 2: 10-12

Photo credit: Burkay Canatar

Hope

Hope

The house is silent tonight. Firelight flickers and logs snap in the woodstove. Tucked in and cozy under the quilt I feel peaceful. The only light is from the snickering fire and the Christmas lights strewn along the mantle glowing warm and soft. The small nativity scene nestled among the gentle light is beautiful. The Savior, Light of the world, Prince of Peace came for me all those years ago. He’s still coming. It wasn’t a one-time thing.

Every day He comes for me and He comes for you. The healing, the protection, the peace, the hope, and the rescue; it never stops. It renews and is reborn. His pursuit of us in the midst of the mundane and the ordinary, the fiery trials, the seasons of running from Him, the times of quiet rest, and the brilliance of joy and victory will continue until the appointed time when God Most High welcomes us Home.

This season of Advent is mysterious, supernatural, holy, and beautiful. I’m in awe of it all.

Sitting quietly before Him in the silence and peace of His presence, my heart feels full, safe, and full of hope, so much hope.