You have covered the whole earth with Your glory, Lord! The skies show your handiwork, the seas your splendour. The trees bear witness to Your glory while the mountains proclaim Your majesty! The rocks hum Your praises in one accord, the birds sing of your loving provision; the flowers reveal Your delicate care. The sun is Your butler, the moon Your footman. The wind is Your servant; all do Your bidding. You have ordained the breeze to whisper fresh hope and the tall grasses to dance under Your delighted gaze.
And while creation blasts out what an awesome wonder You are, so will I. You are high and exalted over everything. You are bigger and deeper than all that has been created. You are over all things. You know the end and the beginning and though centuries pass You do not change. The Ages are mere infants to You, Ancient of Days! All the Ages named by man are children at Your feet and all the people and animals and trees therein are specks compared to You. Like dust particles suspended in Light. Their deeds cry out to You, awaiting The Time, when the books are opened.
Even the fig tree was judged as fruitless when You walked upon the earth. Was it wilfully disobedient, Lord? The tree that held your body, did it wince? Will You praise it on the Day of Judgment for growing faithfully and carrying out its purpose? Was this tree that held the weight of all Sin and all of Death for all time grown from a seedling from the Tree of Life? For after all, it was Life that came bursting out of Death on that glorious morning. Did the wooden beams of the grief-stricken cross begin to sprout with joy? And what of the tree in the Beautiful Garden? Will its account be read out? Did the tree pull its branches back as Eve stretched out? And will the trees that were burdened with bodies like that of Judas tell their stories?
Perhaps this is fanciful, but the trees already speak and testify on this dim side of the mirror. Each season they undress from one garment and clothe themselves anew. After their blossoms they wear green, then move onto golden, before humbling themselves to bare bark. Perhaps they will reveal their secrets, the mysteries they know, when creation gathers at Your Great White Throne.
But while they praise You on this side of the glass and I strain to see the other, I will look at them and remember You, the Great Creator who hung upon a simple tree such as these.
Whispers of Hope, Kisses of Grace 