The morning sun sets the autumn leaves ablaze. Gold so rich, I looked for Midas. Surely he had touched each one? Alas, no it is only one so creative as our Creator. He alone painted each leaf so deep a yellow as to seemingly outshine the rising sun.
Praise His name, we are His greatest creation! Designed to bring Him glory. Shout it in the streets! Announce it from the rooftops. He sent a perfect Way for us to be with Him. In spite of the mess we make. Even though we are sin-filled and fallen, we can be in relationship with the One who sits on the throne as angels declare Him “Holy, Holy, Holy”. He, a lowly carpenter’s son born in a manger mocked and scorned for the Truth He proclaimed, died. A brutal death unfit for even the worst of criminals. And He-100Q% innocent. The only pure, spotless, blameless, perfect One. God in flesh! Buried in a borrowed tomb. But raised again on that glorious third day.
How can I not look at these gorgeous golden leaves and worship? That is my response each time I’m confronted with His artistry. Whether it is in His design of trees or the birds that flitter and twitter in their branches. Even my heartbeat reacts to His glory, twittering in my chest as a response to His performance. When I’m confronted with His unfailing grace and my knees hit the ground. Oh praise, praise, praise Him!
