My Father’s World

“This is my Father's world:

I rest me in the thought

Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas--

His hand the wonders wrought” (Maltbie D. Babcock).

I smile at my favorite words of this joyful hymn. From the trees in my yard to the ever-changing drama overhead, this sin-wreaked world is still beautiful and still belongs to our Father in Heaven. What a restful thought indeed!

Working in the grape vines or weeding the garden can be hot and tedious work. Yet I often stop to enjoy a cool breeze or delight in a pair of birds fighting in a choreographed dance. Maybe I hear the creek gurgling and my bare feet are cushioned by the grass as I walk. When I look up, I imagine the figures of generations crisscrossing the fields in bonnets or coveralls. Another line of the song says, “In the rustling grass I hear Him pass; He speaks to me everywhere.” It is a comforting thought to know that God is so close to us in our toils. He is only a prayer away, as close as the rustling grass.

As the heat of day fades into the cool of night, I become aware of the “music of the spheres.” God’s handiwork is not only vast, but ancient. My labor to water, fertilize, or weed the vineyard connects me to billions of people who have listened to the same music. Some of them also struggled with evil and injustice. That awe-inspiring song, however, declares that “though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet.”