(...it's not what you think. I promise. On my morning walk, as I was meditating on creativity and majesty of God and the array of greens I was seeing, John Legend's "Green Light" just happened to come on my iPod. Coincidence? I think not. It was confirmation that there was something special about the green and that I needed to write about it. As a side note, André 3000's flow is still off the chain. But I digress. On to this morning's post...)
From the dew covered manicured lawns to the half-eaten granny smith apple thrown by the wayside and the moss covered tree that stood as if it had been here a million years to the buds sprouting through the asphalt living to be seen, I could not help but notice all of the green around me today. Now, if you know me well, you know that I am no tree hugger. As stated before, I grew up in the concrete jungle of sorts. While there were beautiful trees growing in Hartley Park (my hangout of choice as a youngster), I fancied climbing the big plastic slide and red painted metal bars on the "Big House" over climbing trees. But this morning, the green—in all of its splendor—demanded my attention. As I walked, I tried to count the shades. After a certain point, I stopped trying to count and started taking in just how beautiful it all was. (There were way more shades of green than on the yarn color chart shown above.)
I have to admit, one of my morning devotional readings probably set the tone for my walk. The Psalmist wrote, "I will meditate also upon all Your works and consider all Your mighty deeds" (Psalm 77:12). I left my apartment ready to consider God's works and was met with an overwhelming amount of green. At times, we use the word green to describe something or someone that is inexperienced, naive, and gullible. Not so with the green I encountered on my morning walk. The trees and grass were wise beyond measure. They were teaching me things. They were reminding me of things I had once learned. They were encouraging me along the way. At one point I was climbing a hill that was so steep I wanted to call someone to come pick me up to drive me home (dramatic, yes). Anyway, as I looked up in the distance, there was a tree that stood solidly with the most inviting leaves I had ever seen. The tree was confident and assured. The leaves fluttered in the wind like cheerleader's pompom's cheering me on as I journeyed up. I couldn't wait to arrive at that tree—to make it proud. So I kept climbing, knowing that each step brought me closer to it. And when I arrived, I gently touched it in gratitude.
After my intimate sharing with the tree, I recognized how much I needed that tree in that moment to get through. But then, with labored breathing and semi-sore legs, my eyes were further opened to how much I needed all the trees and grass and flowers around me. Their life and work made it possible for me to breathe fresh air (and for oxygen to get to my muscles). They take what my body exhales, rejects, and considers toxic and makes something that sustains me. It made me wonder, "what I am doing to help in their sustainability?" Sure, I recycle. With the encouragement of my roommate, I even compost. (though I don't take the bins out, it smells awful!) But there has to be more.
So, even as I reflect on the splendor of God's creation and just how much green there is to behold, I am also left asking myself, "in what ways can you be a good steward over all of God's creation?" More to come as this question settles in and has its way with me...
(image take from http://www.cross-stitch-centre.co.uk/acatalog/dmc_colour_charts.html)