Appreciating Jehovah’s Creations
I HAD never really been impressed, as David was, with the stars—I hadn’t seen all that many because the lights of the city didn’t allow it. But now to stand in total darkness and, as far as the eye could see, be engulfed by a black velvet expanse jam-packed with sparkling, diamondlike stars was overwhelming. Then to turn and see a halo of light radiating over the mountain and soon see the silver edge of the moon appear, and then watch it rise so quickly into full view that it seemed as if someone had reached down and pulled it up, and so close that it seemed as if I could reach out and touch it—all this added to my awe. And only then was I so emotionally moved that I could understand how David could write: “The heavens are declaring the glory of God; and the work of his hands the expanse is telling . . . one night after another night shows forth knowledge.”—Psalm 19:1, 2.
And what city dweller has ever even seen a hummingbird? But have you ever seen him sit on a perch just above your head and extend his long, strawlike tongue and drink sugar water from a feeder? And have you ever seen a male hummingbird fly backward up so high he’s almost out of sight, then swoop down at an unbelievable speed and give a squeaky “Pop” above the head of the female he’s courting to attract her attention, and then shoot upward once more to start the ritual all over again? And have you ever seen a dozen baby hummingbirds surrounding a feeder, hovering in midair, so eager to eat that one will sit on the back of another that’s occupying the perch, and both then feed together from the same opening? Can you imagine how heart stirring it is to have a hummingbird actually sit on your finger?
And in the morning at breakfast have you ever observed on the deck outside your window a papa quail check out the situation, then give his special call to his mate, who answers with her own special reply and then walks into view, followed by 15 or 16 babies, in single file?
And in the evening, have you ever had a raccoon peer in your window until you get up to hand-feed him? Or had another one bang your sliding screen door in the middle of the night to awaken you because he wanted to be fed? Or had a darling baby raccoon climb into your lap out of curiosity and then be able to cuddle him?
Very few people can answer these questions in the affirmative, but I have had the privilege of experiencing all these things, and many, many more. And what they taught me was crystallized one rainy day. It had been raining for days, but on this particular afternoon the clouds suddenly began to break up and the rain lessened to an occasional drop here and there. So I opened the sliding glass door and began to walk down a little path into the canyon. And all of a sudden my senses were bombarded with evidences of Jehovah’s love.
My eyes saw the black clouds moving away across the mountain, a delicate double rainbow breaking across the whole canyon, and shafts of light coming from the sun beyond. My ears heard no grating man-made sounds, but instead the gentle whispering of the wind through the pines and the symphony of all kinds of birds singing, chirping and calling. My nose smelled the lovely fresh air and the pungent fragrance of sage and damp ground. My skin felt the cool, moist breeze, with the warm sun on my back. And my heart, filled to bursting with gratitude, involuntarily made me cry out: “Oh, Jehovah, thank you for this wonderful earth! Please let me live on it forever!”—Contributed.