Nature – sethlewis.ie

Eclipsing the Sun

We stepped out of our front door into a eerily early twilight, as the moon began to cover the sun. From where we stood, the eclipse reached 96% coverage, at its height. One of the things that impressed me most about the experience was not how dark it became, but how much light remained when only 4% of the sun was shining. Even that small sliver of crescent-sun lit the world up more brilliantly than a full moon. The moon might be the main attraction at night, but it can’t compete. I’ve seen it in the morning, almost imperceptible against the sun-washed sky, even though it was still shining just as brightly as ever. More technically, it was still reflecting just as brightly as ever. The reason the moon can never compete with the sun is because every bit of light it shines with is received from the sun in the first place. It does not generate any light of its own. It can only give out of what it has been given.

A Lesson from the Littlest

This is a guest post by Naomi Brehm, a storyteller and poet I met at a conference earlier this year. Naomi works as an evangelist with Speak Life while also studying for a Graduate Diploma in Theology. You can find her work on the Speak Life podcast

Sussex was serving up its best. Winding country roads in summer sunshine were made for Sunday afternoon cycles like this one. Whizzing past fields and farms, my peripheral vision kept being interrupted by flashes of grey-white. I’d never seen anything like it before. Cobwebs are often intricate and beautiful and delicate, these were not. Dense, Halloween-style nets had been cast over whole sections of hedgerows.

Initial reaction: “gross.”

Secondary thought: “Ah, I should do Seth’s Inductive Nature Study thing.”

Words Like Rain (a poem)

Your words came
like rain
and the parched ground
they found
was my heart

Your words fell
like seeds
in the cracked soil
of me
and they sprouted

Your words grew
like saplings
unfurled
like flowers
and tasted like
heaven’s own
garden-fresh
produce
and nothing at all
is the same
since

Your words came

“You have the words of eternal life” – John 6:68

Does the Day End in Night, or the Night End in Day?

Every winter gives way to summer. Every summer eventually fades to winter. Every day ends in night, and every night ends in day. These cycles have been circling for longer than anyone can remember, and they will continue long after our own lives are forgotten—but they cannot continue forever. Someday, the cycles must finish. And will they finish with an everlasting day, or a never-ending night?

Three Books To Draw Your Heart To God This Summer

The days are longer, the weather is warmer, and it’s a perfect time to get outside and enjoy creation. This is also a great season to let your enjoyment draw your heart closer to the One who invented the sunshine, the growth, and everything else you see. Here are three books I’ve read and enjoyed recently that can help you focus your mind and heart on God this summer:

The Ingredients of a Petal (a poem)

What is a petal,
and how would you make it?
What alchemic mixes
would help you create it?

The basic ingredients
everyone knows—some
soil and sunshine and
air—then it grows

But how?

The microscope cannot define
the grand and mysterious
secret of life

We see it
observe it
and live it ourselves
we plant it
and grow it
and store it on shelves

But where did it come from
and why does it bloom
with a spring resurrection
on winter’s old tomb?

A petal’s a beauty you
cannot invent—
a wonder, an omen,
an Artist’s intent

Searching for a Sign

“God, please give me a sign”, I said quietly, as I stepped outside.

I was in the middle of a confusing situation. I didn’t know what to do, or how. I couldn’t see how anything could work out well. I wanted to know that God was near, and involved. I wanted to see a display of his care, and power. I’m not sure what kind of sign I was looking for, exactly—a sudden bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky? A rainbow ending at my house? A rare bird landing on my shoulder?

The Genius of Dirt

It’s everywhere. It sticks to your hands in the garden, and clings tightly to your shoes until the moment you step inside, where it promptly falls onto the just-cleaned floor. It stains the knees and elbows of children’s clothes, collects on the sides of cars, and turns into a sloppy mess in the rain. Dirt.

What else does God Name?

A break in the clouds made the sun shine briefly, and it filtered through the leaves of the trees that surrounded me. I’m still not well versed on the native tree species of Ireland, so I didn’t know what to call all the varieties around me. As I looked more closely at them, I thought species names wouldn’t really do them justice, anyway. Each tree was so unique, twisted and knobbed in its own peculiar ways, reaching outward and upward and marked with its own particular spots and stripes and lumpy roots. Each told its own silent story of growth over decades, with its scars to prove the challenge of survival and its buds to show the promise of life. I wanted to call each one by its own name, something fitting to itself, honouring its own unique existence. I stopped at one tree in particular and tried to find a name that would suit it. It looked stately and strong, like a weathered General in his dress uniform, but General is more of a title than a name, and probably too general. Anyway, it’s a bit silly and sentimental to be going around naming trees, isn’t it?

Life is a Vapour. Enjoy it.

I stood at the window with my coffee in hand, enjoying the unique stillness of a Saturday morning. The clouds in the eastern sky were blushing, in anticipation of the sun’s imminent arrival. Between me and them, a mist was rising, like the earth’s exhaled breath—growing, shifting, and dispersing, glowing in the golden morning glory. A breath. A vapour. This is what King Solomon called life itself, in the book of Ecclesiastes. Like your own breath in the crisp winter air—you can see it and feel the warmth of it, but the one thing you can never do is hold it.