Words to Grow On

Archive Devotions

May 9, 2005

"God's Garden"

by

Carroll Ferguson Rader

The Rocky Mountain altitude took its toll. My woozy head felt leaden and light, both at the same time. We were way above the timberline, 12,000 feet maybe, and the lack of oxygen made me feel about as energetic as a marathon runner who had just come in last.

These minor drawbacks notwithstanding, I set off on the hiking patch charted for lowlanders like me, a trek that promised to acquaint me with this treeless high country.

At first I stood and stared at the snow-capped peaks that surrounded me, some with ancient icy glaciers across their rocky shoulders like ermine stoles. Talk about majesty.

But then a small sign caught my eye.

I knelt down to read, and made a discovery that's been a source of wonder for me ever since. The small sign told me that I was surrounded by alpine plants, growth found only at the breathtaking altitude and never seen down below among the sunflowers and day lilies common to my habitat.

Spread out before me as far as I could see lay a green carpet of harsh and hostile foliage hugging the rocky slope. And more. It took some looking, but I found much more.

Tucked amongst the prickly, protective green tendrils were the tiniest flowers I'd ever seen. Purple, white, red, blue and yellow. Vivid and variegated. Astonishing. Who knew? What are they doing up here in this bitter wind, I wondered, unseen except by eagles, the odd mountain goat, and God himself.

Being a believer in God as creator of our world, and us, of course I began to think of Him. Who could not in such a place?

My God, my Creator, He who loves me beyond all telling, lavishes our world with unlimited color, form, design. We know this.sort of. But it pushes me, stretches me, reduces me to dumbstruck awe to stare at the flowers at my feet. At their almost microscopic stripes and dots, the shades of color accomplished on a petal no bigger that a housefly's wing.

My Father did this. The same holy God who sculpted the towering peaks that surround me. And I wonder why. Just like I wonder why He Loves me. That He does is certain; the cross assures me of this.

So I stared at the tiny, lovely, unheralded flowers on the mountainside as the wind whistled past my ears. Their presence here is one of the mysteries of Almighty God, beloved heavenly Father. Which mystery is good because they whisper to me, these bright blossoms, that my Father, all powerful, cares about the details, the issues of my life. He tends His wilderness flower garden and He cares for me, insignificant, unseen me.