Pause for a moment with me, will you? Take a slow, deep breath in, and then slowly release it again. On your next slow in-breath, hear God’s whisper to your soul, “Be still and know. . . “ And on the out-breath, “. . . that I am God.” If only for a few moments, let your body still, your mind slow, and your attention turn to the One who made and loves you, and who holds you and all your worries in His strong and loving hands.

It’s a time in our world when many of us are especially aware of our own—and our world’s—desperate need for God. And so we pray. And yet sometimes even lifting the needs of our world to God can feel heavy. In those moments I’m especially grateful that God has woven into creation reminders of His faithfulness.

A spring chorus of birdsong greets me when I step out the door, instantly drawing my own heart to join in their worship, to celebrate with them that God’s mercies are indeed new every morning. Night is followed by day, winter by spring, and eventually the rain clouds do part to reveal the sun that has been there, still faithfully giving us warmth and light, even while hidden from our view.

Each time I pass a strip of cherry trees on my bike, a few more of the deep rose-colored buds have unfurled into soft pink petals. Forsythia bushes have begun to erupt in sunny yellow, matching the daffodils that nod in the breeze between vibrant bushes of purple heather. When I read the news, I lose sight of the beauty in our world. But beauty is still here. God is still here. He is still present, still active, and still in the business of working even the most horrendous evil—like our crucifixion of his Son—out for good.

As I bike, I pray. And these days I move back and forth in prayer between lifting our world to God and looking at the beauty around me. I need to intersperse my requests with worship. I need to glance at the headlines, looking long enough to know how to pray, and then fix my eyes again on God who is somehow at work in it all. I’m learning all over again to hold both the need and God’s reality together as I pray, “Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

I’m in good company in looking to creation as a reminder of God’s faithfulness. The Psalmists often looked to creation, listening to the light and colors of the sky and planets declaring the glory of God, and being reminded of His power through waves crashing on the beach, and of His faithfulness through His feeding of birds and lions and great white wales (eg. Psalm 19, 93, 104). And Jesus himself pointed us to flowers and birds as reminders of God’s faithful provision (Matt 6:25ff).

In the first weeks and months of the pandemic, Malcolm Guite penned a poem, a response to Psalm 1, reflecting how the trees were helping him settle into the peace that comes with rootedness in God’s love. I’ll share it here for you. If you can, sometime today go stand in the woods, or under a cherry tree in bloom, and look up. And if you can’t, picture yourself standing under the trees that line a brook as you slowly read Malcolm Guite’s poem. May God quiet our hearts once again as He helps us settle still deeper into His unfailing love.

Come to the place, where every breath is praise,

And God is breathing through each passing breeze.

Be planted by the waterside and raise

Your arms with Christ beneath these rooted trees,

Who lift their breathing leaves up to the skies.

Be rooted too, as still and strong as these,

Open alike to sun and rain. Arise

From meditation by these waters. Bear

The fruits of that deep rootedness. Be wise

In the trees’ long wisdom. Learn to share

The secret of their patience. Pass the day

In their green fastness and their quiet air.

Slowly discern a life, a truth, a way,

Where simple being flowers in delight.

Then let the chaff of life just blow away.

—Malcolm Guite