Memoir: How Nature Taught Me to Pray

Photo by Erik (and sometimes Jessica)

I learned to pray, not from a cult, but from years of living in the hills, surrounded by God’s creation: thick evergreens dripping with moss, lush green carpeted forest floors, beautiful rocks the size of houses at our favorite campground, rushing streams, waterfalls, winding roads that led to nowhere, and glorious views of the valley below.

I felt closer to God there than ever before. I felt like I lived in His garden.

I’m sure many of us feel this way. The earth is astounding in its beauty; a living, breathing testament to the Triune creativity. And we get to live here! Dinesh D’Souza wrote last week in CT Online‘s weekly newsletter that Haiti was a reminder of our earth’s ability to sustain human life. Two large plates pushed together, grinding slowly to make that part of the earth shake for a full 45 seconds. The result was catastrophic, but it wasn’t any person’s fault.

An earthquake doesn’t come because the human race did something wrong (if we were punished for every single thing we did wrong as a joint human race, um, we’d have been obliterated long ago). It’s the earth we live on and the mannerisms this earth uses to contain a human race. Without plate tectonics, we could not survive here. Without movement of “solid” ground, we would perish and wouldn’t we then shake our fists at God?

Living near earth’s beauty and power drives one to prayer, for Haiti, for us. Who can know their days on earth? Only God. Thus, we pray in thankfulness for all we can enjoy, for sustenance from the hand of God who gives us everything we need, and for direction: What would You have me do today?

I learned to pray in those hills of my youth. I learned to talk to God as if He walked beside me, marching up and down the long, steep driveway memorizing 1 Peter (for some reason memorizing that book STILL eludes me) or reading a letter from far away. I learned that He delighted to be with me there. He was always ready, always waiting, always eager to listen and to tell me how much He loved and cared for me.

Our dog would also walk with me up and down that steep driveway. But Mosey would stop at the edge of our property line, not setting one toenail across the invisible line (just as my sister had trained him to do). He would wait there for me as I got to the mailbox with a letter or picked the mail up from the postman. And as I would turn to head home, I could almost see God standing there with our beautiful dog, both of them waiting for me. It was because of the beauty that surrounded that spot: every tree, every blade of grass, every animal communed with God. In worship, in adoration, in thanks. Nature is a reminder that God dwells with us. He has not left. He has not abandoned, He has not forgotten.

He is here. All nature glorifies Him. All creation sings of His great love for us.

And that is a Good Thing.

Tagged as: brilliant, Good Things, memoir