I've been wanting to introduce Lauren Merritt to our blog for some time now.  Lauren is the author behind the very compelling and theologically rich blog The Christian and Creation ~ Glorifying the Creator.  She's also a relatively recent wife and mother, and just began her masters of divinity in apologetics and worldview at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.  Her post, "Like a Child," is a perfect epilogue to our series on wild birds:

People frequently ask me what state I most enjoyed living in.  Arizona, Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee, Florida, Maryland, Delaware or Kentucky?  Some of the states I lived in when I was too young to really remember them, and the latter few I compare on a completely different scale than with the places I lived when I was a kid.  When I think through my mental catalog of homes, I always pictures first the yards, as probably any child would.  I think about my experiences playing and learning about the world.  And Florida trumped them all. 

For two years, when I was 10 and 11, my family lived in southeastern Florida, about a mile from the coast.  We lived in the suburbs, but nevertheless, creation was teeming all around us.  We had several citrus fruit trees on one side of the house and small banana trees on the other.  A swimming pool directly behind the house and a large pond between our yard and the park on the other side.   To the right of our property was a small, swampy forest, vacant of houses, but full of beautiful papery white trees and wild animals.  The warm weather and abundance of water meant that greenery popped up in every crevice, and to it life flocked. 

Lizards, birds, snakes, turtles, raccoons, opossums, rabbits, river otters were seen crisscrossing our backyard or enjoying the pond behind the house.  My mother had to chase huge black garden snakes out of the yard with a broom before letting our dog out.  Occasionally we would glimpse the armadillo who took up residence under our shed.  It was paradise for a nature-loving 10-year-old.  I spent most days after school barefoot in the yard and the adjacent woods.  My feet were tough from the large-bladed grass, which my sister and I referred to as “plastic grass” because of its texture, much harder than the delicate grasses of the more temperate states where we’d lived before.

Mostly, when I think of Florida, I think of the birds.  The pond in the morning was full of creatures splashing, swimming, drinking, hunting and flying.  Egrets were one of my favorites.  Their white wings were delicate and lacy.  Their thin arched necks were regal.  They were so beautiful, so exquisitely etched, that it seemed like they shouldn’t be living creatures at all, but rather statues of fine art put up on a high shelf out of reach.  There was a particular spot in the yard, at the edge of the pond, where one would usually stand.  I would always look directly there in the morning to see if he was there.  Several times I tried to sneak close with my camera to capture the moment.  I have the photos somewhere in my boxes of childhood memorabilia.  I remember exactly what it looks like.  One was taken with the bird standing still, looking at me.  The other, as he flew off into the sun.

The sandhill cranes were a different sort of imperial creature.  They were probably taller than I was at the time, bluish grey cranes with bright red caps on their heads.  There was a family of three that walked the streets of the neighborhood as though the owned the road.  They descended in height and we called them, perhaps correctly, the mother, father and baby.  I’m not sure if they ever left the neighborhood or not, but they were frequently seen walking down the roads at a leisurely pace.  It seemed a high privilege if they elected to take some R&R in our backyard pond.

The local beach access was nearby, and again the birds were one of my favorite parts of the visits there.  Cormorants were a treat to watch.  Any bird swimming underwater to catch its meals is fascinating enough – but to see the flair with which they do it made the display captivating.  It was a guessing game, sitting on the shore wondering how long the bird would be under and where he would pop up.  Will he have caught a fish this time, or will he dive again? 

The tiny brown sandpipers were like the hummingbirds of the beach.  Their feet moved in such a constant hurry they were almost impossible to see as they scurried up and down the waterline avoiding the waves, pecking at the sand while it was wet and bubbly.  They were busy, busy little creatures, teaching anyone what it means to work hard for your supper.  I remember giggling watching them.  They were so focused, so fast and furious in their hunting it was cartoonish.

I was not a Christian when I lived there, experiencing all the wonders of a tropical environment.  I had not heard of, or ever thought about the existence of a God, never heard a Sunday sermon.  The miracles of creation were just there for the enjoying.  And I enjoyed them with all the fervor of a child still young enough to be unstained by the world of utility and profit.  I didn’t need a reason to sit and watch birds being birds.  I didn’t need to make excuses for giggling at the sandpiper’s speedy little feet or rejoicing when the cormorant caught a fish.  In some ways I may have been enjoying creation the way God meant for us all to do, before I even knew it was His. 

Nearly 10 years later I was saved by God’s amazing grace and suddenly I saw with joy that all the creation was pointing to Him, the Creator!  It was a deeply-buried truth that, now illuminated, resonated with my soul.  Yes, the joy, the laughter, the awe, the wonder of creation I felt before - it was right, it was true, and it was purposeful.  Every moment I spent wondering at otters playing, pondering the feathers of the egrets’ wings, and studying the sandhill cranes’ lanky strut was a moment that I was learning about God, far before He revealed His Son to me. 

  For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what he has made … (Romans 1:20, NAS)

In every part of the world, in heaven and on earth, he has written and as it were engraven the glory of his power, goodness and eternity ...  For all creatures, from the firmament even to the center of the earth, could be witnesses and messengers of his glory to all men, drawing them on to seek him and, having found him, to do him service and honor according to the dignity of a Lord so good, so potent, so wise and everlasting ...  For the little singing birds sang of God, the animals acclaimed him, the elements feared and the mountains resounded with him, the river and springs threw glances toward him, the grasses and the flowers smiled.” (John Calvin)

The glory of God is all around us.  Displayed in the birds, the beasts, the flowers, the trees.  I should learn from my 10-year-old self, and remember to enjoy it.  God commands us to come to him with faith like a child.  What joy there is when we view his creation like a child, as well.  Leaving behind, for a while at least, our schedules and lists, our worldly concerns and desire for profit, and just enjoy the works of His hands.  The Westminster Shorter Catechism reads, “Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.”  We can begin now our everlasting enjoyment, with what has been revealed to us through creation. 

(I'm very grateful to Lauren Merritt for sharing "Like a Child" with us, and look forward to posting more of her writing; photos copyright Searmstrong & Mark Rasmussen/123rf.com.)