Morning Praise

It has been one of those rare nights of sleeping in the city.  The city wakes up differently than the farm.  At the farm the morning is announced not by the cranking of cars filled with people hurrying to the nine to five places, but the singing of a host of different birds out there in the early darkness.  The rising sun does not have to find its way around buildings, but is free to pour its light across open hay fields and into the bedroom window.  There is no distant roar on asphalt, only the quiet sounds not heard which announce the beginning of a new day.    

By now it is no secret that I am in love with the farm and all its ways.  It has fed and continues to feed my soul with a silence which surprisingly enough heightens my awareness of God prowling around in His creation much like He must have done in the Garden where the first farmers cared for the land.  While I know being immersed in the creation is not for everyone, I sometimes wish it could be the experience of everyone at least for a day.    

It is, perhaps, in the glory of the brilliant sunset or in the rise of a full moon that most folks are caused to stand in awe of the Creator, but the truth is there is nothing about this Creation which does not have the capacity to cause hands to be raised and knees to be bent.  I am thankful this morning that no matter where I am, He is.  He roams the quietness of the farm and the roaring asphalt of the city.  He is here.  There.  He is with us.  Thanks be to God.