One morning last week, I ate my breakfast on the porch. A gentle, soaking rain fell around me. Across the field fog rose from behind the trees that line the river. At this time of transition with fall only a few weeks away, the crepe myrtle and the mimosa tree still wore their pink blossoms, but a few leaves on the pink dogwood tree were already orange.
With the many rains God has sent this summer, the Tennessee landscape was a vibrant green. The wetness that morning made it even greener. I saw subtle contrasts of green in the grass in the yard, the hay across the road, and the various species of trees. The greens even varied within each plant. The mimosa tree, its dark older leaves contrasting with its bright new ones, was the most striking example.
At times the rain fell more gently; at other times it came down hard. When it paused briefly, a soft breeze blew across the porch. The tree branches began to move and their leaves began to flutter up and down and from side to side.
I thought about what was happening around me and about how I had no control over it. I can’t make the rain fall. I can’t make it fall softer or harder. I can’t make a blossom open or turn a leaf orange or red or brown. I can’t make the wind blow or make the leaves dance. I could never even paint all those shades of green, much less create the plants that bear them. As Jesus said, I can’t make one hair white or black.
So, what can I do? Notice. Appreciate. Praise. Respond with faithfulness. Get up every morning ready to do the tasks God gives me today. Tell those around me Who can do these things. Rest in the knowledge that God is working and that He knows what He is doing in the universe, in my family, in my life.
Be still, and know that I am God:
I will be exalted among the heathen,
I will be exalted in the earth.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Psalm 46:10-11, NASB