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While I'm aware that many here are not religiously-inclined, both Tony and I are, and there are times when I am more certain of God's existence than ever I was before; this morning is one of those times.
We live on the very edge of a small village situated squarely on the black-earth prairie land of central Illinois. Although our weather is described as 'temperate', that dry term hardly does it justice. The weather here is, if anything, extreme: our winters can be bitterly cold, with deep snows and howling, sub-zero north winds, and the summers are most often characterized by weeks-long periods of stifling, wilting, tropical temperatures. Spring, while often 'pretty', is punctuated by the violent weather systems and tornadic storms which rightfully earn this place the moniker 'Tornado Alley'. However...
Some time in the month of June--- most frequently in early June, but occasionally later--- we are blessed with a rare morning or two that can only be described as 'glorious'; today is one such morning. When I awoke at three and stepped outside, the air was blessedly cool, freshly-scrubbed by a gentle 'garden rain' just after midnight. A light breeze caressed my cheek, causing me to pull my bathrobe just a bit tighter about my thin chest, and making me wish I had worn my house slippers before I ventured forth. The elegant stillness is broken only by the calls of birds. Overhead, the stars shine out like a thousand small diamonds.
Later, around half-past four, the midnight blue on the eastern horizon begins to change subtly, giving way first to pearl gray and then to the palest blue streaked with pink and red. With the light is revealed a heavy dew, as if God himself had used a giant plant mister to gently spray life itself upon the green things of this place. In the soybean and corn fields to the west, a thin white coverlet of fog lies softly upon the lush, green bounty that grows from the rich, black earth. As a deer timidly approaches the creek for a morning drink, doves coo from our power lines.
Finally, around seven, the sun is a fiercely golden orb undimmed by pollution; in its light, one notices a riot of green: the emerald green of corn grown head-high, the deeper, darker green of the broad, flat leaves of the bushy soybeans, the vibrant green of the leaves of the stately oaks, elms and maples that border our property and the lush green of the orchard-mix grass of our lawn.
On days like this, it requires no great act of faith on my part to believe in an omniscient, omnipotent and merciful God, because all around me is proof of what I believe to be his bounty and blessing upon this small and insignificant place on this small and insignificant planet, and in my heart I hear the Biblical injunction "Be still, and know that I am God."
Cheers! :)
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