Beauty That Calls Us Home

I sit beneath the trees,

And the wind blows its gentle breeze.

 

I know not where it comes from,

Or where it goes,

Or what its purpose is,

On the earth.

 

Yet it moves where it wishes,

And I hear its sound,

And I feel its breath.

And the world would be dull and still and stale,

Without the stirring of the wind.  

 

Without the gentle breeze,

To stir the leaves,

And animate the trees,

And make them dance and speak,

Would there be life in creation?

 

Without the forceful gale,

To bring in storm and weather and water,

How would the earth drink?

What life could grow,

If there were no wind,

To drive the rain,

Where it is needed?  

 

I walk and the breeze gently brushes against my skin,

And I think of these things.

Try to imagine a world,

Where there was no movement,

Of the wind.  

 

It’s not a world,

I would want to live in.

Such a stale and dead,

And lifeless world.

 

And indeed,

One that would soon surely,

Wither dry and die.  

 

I think of that.

How vital wind is.

And how musical,

And magical,

And holy it is too.

 

God who chose to create wind.

But You didn’t have to.

There must have been an infinite number of ways,

You could have set to govern the earth.

 

But You chose this one.

You chose wind.

Breath.

Movement.

Life.

 

The wind blows,

And the world dances,

And there really is something alive and holy,

In the moving.  

 

Creation bobs and breathes,

And there’s a gentle speaking in the wind.

A whisper gently caressing the ear.

A living spirit that beckons us to hear.

 

The wind blows with a will and a purpose.

And so too Your Spirit.

Living, breathing Spirit,

Of the Living, Breathing God.

 

You speak,

You move,

You dance,

You live,

Within us,

And You make us to live.  

 

And the world can’t long live,

Without the gentle stirring of wind.

And there is no life,

Without the breathing of Your Spirit.  

 

Life with You is a living life.

It’s a breathing life.

You move,

And we live.  

 

God who fills the world with a song.

And the song that it is singing,

Is You.

 

Sunlight falls,

Strong and sure and golden,

On the earth below.

And the grass and the treetops,

Glow with life.

 

And you can almost reach out,

And take the sunlight in your hands,

And cup it to your face,

And drink it.  

 

God who is light,

And in You there is no darkness at all.

You fill the earth,

With Your nature,

And we drink it up,

And we live.  

 

I watch the wild things,

Leap and fly,

From tree to tree.

With skill and assurance,

They fly and they spring and they leap.  

 

Unashamed,

Unintimidated,

Unafraid,

They live with all they have,

And they thrive.  

 

The bids that soar,

And fly in patterns and pairs,

And just seem to know,

What to do.

 

How to fly,

And how to soar together,

In rhythm and harmony,

Symmetry and beauty.

 

And how do they know?

Who taught them what is beautiful,

And wise?  

 

I see the mark of the Creator,

Written into their DNA.

 

I watch the squirrels,

As they leap assuredly,

From branch to branch,

And tree to tree,

And tree to rooftop.

 

They climb so nimbly,

And they leap without second thought,

Or recalculation,

Or fear.  

 

This is what they do.

This is what they know.

And they are sure that they will reach the other branch,

In safety.

 

I watch them,

Amazed.

Would that I had such courage,

To leap from branch to branch,

With never a second guess,

Or a doubt in my mind!

 

Their Creator made them fearless,

And nimble,

And agile,

And skillful and wise,

In ways that I am not.

 

I watch them,

And I marvel.

They live as You made them,

And they speak of You.

Your wisdom,

Your power,

Your intricacy,

And Your beauty.  

 

All around me,

Creation speaks such things.

And all around me,

I read the wisdom,

Of the Creator.

I taste His beauty,

And I long for more.  

 

And I feel in my breast,

Exactly what C.S. Lewis once said.

I feel this ache,

To join with and be united to and be one with,

The beauty I see.

 

I do not merely wish to savor,

But to reach through creation’s ceiling,

And join my soul fully,

To the soul of the One,

Who is Living Beauty.  

 

I ache to fly,

Through the ceiling of sky,

And enter full into Paradise,

And join my soul,

To the pure and eternal,

Beauty.

 

I ache to follow the river,

To its source.

To swim upstream,

And find the glorious spring,

And plunge my soul,

Right into its depths,

And be swallowed up,

And united,

And made one,

With this Source.

 

Source of all truth and beauty.

Source of all wisdom and goodness and life.

I ache to be one with the fullness of You.

I ache in a way,

That is almost unbearable.  

 

Would that the sky would rend,

And You would come down!

Would that these human eyes would see,

The Glorious One,

Whom no one can behold!

 

Would that I would know,

The Beautiful One,

Who lives beyond,

The beauty of all that I see.

 

Each day You call to me.

Sing to me with dancing leaves,

And laughing sunshine.

Whisper to me with mysterious wind,

And echoes of beauty.  

 

Each day You call my soul toward home,

As You speak to me from outside my window.

Each day I touch beauty,

And I taste goodness,

And it fills my soul like sunshine,

Like laughter,

Like a glorious and heavenly song,

And I ache to come home.  

 

And You speak truth and beauty to me,

And it’s Your constant singing,

That lures me ever deeper.

It’s Your constant beckoning,

That pulls me deeper into the journey,

And further up,

And further in.

 

And over each hill,

There is more beauty.

And sometimes when I’m running,

With the breeze in my hair,

And the sunshine on my face,

My heart is so swollen with joy and melody,

I think it will burst,

And I will just explode.

 

Sometimes in the running free,

Over Your green hills,

My heart is beating so wildly,

And strongly,

And fiercely,

I really do feel,

On the verge of bursting open.  

 

And sometimes I feel,

Like I’m a hair’s breadth away,

From the bursting open,

Of the eternal.  

 

And I know that the eternal lives in my chest,

And it drives me ever on.

 

Further up,

And further in.

And there is no end.  

 

Yet I keep thinking,

That perhaps over the next crest,

Will be the wide open landscape,

And the welcome home,

And the fullness of the glory and the beauty,

And the worship of the Father,

And the Son of God,

And the never ending communion.  

 

I taste the firstfruits.

I feel the Spirit.

I swell and I explode and I break,

And I ache so much for the fullness,

A lifetime seems too long to wait.

 

Yet You do all things well,

And even the waiting.

And I know that You have glory and beauty and purpose,

Here.

 

And all of this here and now,

The living and the growing and the trials and the journey,

Are producing this weight of glory,

That will one day be the treasure,

Laid in our hands,

At the end of the road.  

 

Your voice speaks,

And I feel You and I hear You now,

In this living life,

And this temporal place,

And this life of journey,

Ever onward,

Up to You.  

 

And to hear You and know You,

And commune with You here,

Is grace sufficient,

For the journey.

 

And there is joy in Your presence,

And peace in Your gospel,

And hope in Your name.

And it is enough,

To fill us,

And also,

To drive us on.

 

We fill with the firstfruits,

But we ache for the full harvest.

So we eat the firstfruits,

But we till and we climb,

And we run like mad,

For the fullness,

For the harvest,

For the end of the road,

And the home with Your presence,

Forever.

 

The fullness of the communion,

And the fullness of the knowing,

And the fullness of the worshiping,

And the fullness of the being,

We ache for it.

We run for it.

We pursue it.  

 

With hearts full of firstfruits,

And bursting with life and joy,

We fly forward toward the treasure,

Toward the King,

Toward the One who is singing in our souls.

 

To the One whose singing,

Is drawing our hearts,

Further up,

And further in,

Toward the prize,

And the end,

And His face,

And home.

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