God of Nature

The contours of the earth beneath our feet served as a map, eventually leading us back to our cabins. We felt the way with our senses. Touch, smell, and hearing were all acutely honed over time and bolstered by memory, such was our familiarity with the place. The great storm that blew in from across the lake, the tempest that stole our light, had subsided, but not before its fury had played out in a frightening display of thunderous ferocity. All that remained was darkness, not the typical darkness of a moonlit summer evening but a thick, sooty blackness that overpowered even the murkiest shadows and overwhelmed our natural vision, leaving us stumbling as if blind toward the places where we would feel safe again.

Later in the evening when all had settled, I made my way by instinct to the uppermost vantage point on campus. From that quiet perch I watched in solitude as the last remnants of lightning over the lake illuminated water and sky. Brilliant blue and green flashes revealed tumultuous clouds heaped one upon another, infinitely reaching toward a seemingly eternal destination. The evening had grown still and quiet, a peaceful time of whispering, the thunder of early evening having found new purpose in a storm somewhere far beyond my hearing. In that silent moment, fascinated and inspired by the unspeakable beauty of the scene, the voice of heaven declared to me with pristine clarity the undeniable truth of the ages: the God of light and thunder loved me. No storm, though it tear the firmaments asunder, could ever separate me from the Creator.

That was many years ago, but the memory of that teenage experience is as vibrant as the blue sky on the morning that followed. It was perhaps the epiphanic crisis of my youth, the perfect revelation at the precise time designed to show me that when all the stormy chaos of fallen existence has ended, the Light that sought and found me will remain. It was good news to a child of the 70’s being pulled in different directions by the aimless philosophies of the “me” decade. I knew God but was only vaguely aware that He knew me. I had been told of His love but could not feel the embrace of such affection. I know now the problem was esteem, my personal view of self, poisoned by certain traumas of days gone by. How could God love me with all my shortcomings and failures? That night in the darkness when I felt like giving in to the cold of loneliness, I found instead the glowing warmth of unconditional acceptance. It took a thunderstorm experience on the porch of a summer camp dining room to open my eyes to grace and my heart to love.

Some might debate that such awakenings to spiritual truth do not occur by way of simple acts of nature, no matter how spectacular. I disagree, allowing God to choose for Himself the particular methodology of His revelation. If He speaks through storms or tranquility, famine or abundance, it is nonetheless truth to the searching soul longing to hear the loving voice of God. He is there in rolling oceans and rumbling skies, speaking through the voice of His own creation to those who have ears to hear, eyes to see, and hearts sensitive enough to understand. He illuminates our intellect with lightning and cleanses our sorrow with rain that falls like tears of love upon His children.

The heavens illustrate the infinite nature of His grace, and the stars, named and numbered by their Maker, proclaim the eternal light of God. I am assured now that during the frequent storms of life, He is there, and He is here with me.

“Let the heavens be glad and the earth rejoice, Let the sea and everything in it shout his praise, Let the rivers clap their hands and the hills sing aloud together before the Lord For he comes to judge the earth.” (Excerpts from Psalm 96:11, 98:8-9)