The Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands

The world is an ancient place. Not ancient like we were taught in school, millions of years…but still old. Indian warrior old. When I drove up to this cabin where I am staying this week (for a little sabbatical from humanity), I accidentally came the long way around, which involved a sketchy gravel road and a mountain. It was already getting dusky. I rolled down my windows. The air was thick and green. I could hear cows, cicadas and chickens. I love the country but was beginning to get nervous until I came around a curve and saw several cabins scattered about. There it was, a tiny log house down in a hollow. Real logs, not those fake kind. A broad front porch that wrapped itself around to the back of the house. A kind place that asked me to come inside. Also a sad place because my friends who bought it are now divorced.  Sometimes life hands you things that you can scarcely believe. The thoughts that drift across our minds, the things we don’t speak of, the things we hide….sometimes they surface and manifest themselves despite our best efforts. I sit here on the porch, a soft breeze blowing up from the creek. I can smell the ferns and moss. The woods, I can imagine them five hundred years ago, where they grew unmolested with only an occasional Indian stealthing by. It’s not like other places, where there were civilizations that built grand palaces then got crushed by another great civilization, leaving behind ruins and structures to be rediscovered after being buried for millennia. It’s just the woods, the earth, the wind, and it has been like this since it was created. The stars out here are brilliant. There’s no unnatural light to obscure their beauty.  I’m reminded of the Scriptures that speak of the trees clapping their hands and the rocks and nature crying out praise to God. I wonder about all that. We are so intent on making our marks on the earth, rushing to and fro to stamp all over our territory and to leave a “legacy.” We are worried about other people, about what they think of us. So worried about being acknowledged, being important, being relevant. What if God really doesn’t give a rip about that? What if he just wants us to raise our eyes to him and clap our hands?