Nature – sethlewis.ie

Transcendence, Inc

My children and I were heading home after a swim, when a work van caught my eye. It had “Transcendence, Inc” written across its side, but honestly, it didn’t look very transcendent. It was parked on the footpath between the hotel and the road, just like any regular old non-transcendent work van would be. A closer look at the smaller print confirmed that “Transcendence, Inc” was the name of a company offering high-end decorating and furnishing services.

That’s a clever name for that kind of business. And perhaps it’s true, in the very lowest sense of the word, of merely “transcending” our normal expectations with something a bit beyond them. I’ve seen furniture and decorating that really has gone beyond expectations, leaving me genuinely impressed. For a while.

Steeple Mountains

It was a Sunday afternoon in Killarney, and I was alone with no time pressure. In a situation like that, there’s no difficulty in knowing where to go—it has to be Killarney National Park. The paths are basically endless there, winding as they do through the mature forests that grow along the lakeshore and up into the mountains. The fields, the ruins, and the trees all have long histories, histories that bleed their weight and significance into the air and make quick steps—like mine—ring with impertinence.

My manners were mended when I was forced to step aside from the main path in deference for a horse that was pulling a jaunting car. As I waited, I noticed a narrow track worn into the ground at the very edge of the lake. This new way called to me with the eternal appeal of the road less travelled, and I was not disobedient. There were no horses on that tiny trail, and no other people, either. The sound of my own heavy feet on the ground was all I heard, accompanied by the occasional rustle of the leaves above me and the endless quiet splashing of rippled water against ragged outcroppings of rocks and roots beside me. When I stopped my noisy shoes on a protruding boulder, the stillness immediately enveloped me.

A Collection Of Incredible Creations

In researching and writing for my next book, “Everything Speaks: Learning the Language of Creation”, I have been constantly amazed at the detail and design of the world God put us in. Even now, there are songbirds outside my window flying effortlessly on perfectly crafted wings. There are plants that began as tiny seeds, and they’re out there converting sunlight into energy and releasing oxygen for me to breathe. There are worms aerating the soil and clouds watering the forests and galaxies are spinning and molecules are bonding and King David was right when he wrote that:

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
    the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
    night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
    no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
    their words to the ends of the world.” – Psalm 19:1-4

In the book, I want to explore how we can understand what God is saying to us through the things he has made. But for now, I’d like to share a few aspects of creation that I have found especially fascinating as I’ve researched. First of all, trees. Did you know that they can talk to each other? Research has shown that that there is much more going on in the forest than meets the eye:

A Compass For Our Changing World

We’re a few days into another new year, and nobody knows what the next 12 months will bring. What we do know is this: the world is changing fast. Culture is changing. Economics are changing. Demographics are changing. Beliefs are changing. As the world shifts around us, there’s plenty of disagreement about which of these changes are moving us forward, which are holding us back, and what the path of progress should look like. That’s a vital question. Years ago, C.S. Lewis made an important point about it:

Finding A Bigger Story

This is a guest post written by my friend, Isabel Quinlan. She shared her story with our local Bible study group last week, and I asked her to write it up for you as well. Isabel writes a blog at https://isabelquinlanblog.wordpress.com

“Ruairí wants to go in there” my 2 year old said excitedly, prodding the picture of a farm in the board book i was reading him. I had a jolt of realisation, struck by the profound nature of stories. My 2 year old doesn’t yet know that this little farm is fictitious, but he instinctively knows that stories contain little worlds. Little imaginary offshoots of our own world.

I grew up with a Christian worldview. A view of our world as the creation of a being outside it, a 3D offshoot of his imagination. Through my teens my view changed. Like many other young people in Ireland at the time, I shed the narrative of a creator and dove into atheism, and began to view our world not as an imaginative creation spoken into physical existence, but rather as a collection of matter, governed by laws of physics.

He Didn’t Have To Promise

What do we have that God didn’t give us?

Our bodies are the work of his hands. Our hearts beat with his gift of life. Our lungs fill with his air. Our minds are aware with his gift of consciousness. Our strength and abilities come from him. Even the abilities we work hard to develop ourselves come from him, because what are we developing except his gifts, using the strength and life he gave us?

How Satellites Changed How I See The World

I grew up on the edge of a new world. I was the first of my friend group to own a mobile phone—an indestructible Nokia that could call and text, but I didn’t use it to text because that was expensive and who would I text anyway? No internet. No satellite navigation system.

I was 16. My parents gave me the phone because we lived in the country and I had just gotten plastic proof of my adulthood: a full driver’s licence. I drove our little Toyota pickup truck with a tape deck that was so old the tapes would play faster or slower according to the engine rpms—so the tempo of the music changed every time I changed gears. It was hilarious. And really annoying. That truck was mostly reliable, but only mostly. I remember it breaking down on top of a mountain and how thankful I was that I could just barely coast into the driveway of the first house after miles of forest. I didn’t know the people there, but they helped me. I couldn’t always depend on the car, or the phone signal, so I had to depend on strangers. Gradually, as the cellular towers sprang up and the satellite networks became more reliable, our family breakdown stories changed. Helpful strangers began to feature less often in them.

Inside Of The Painting (a poem)

I have a short poem for you today, and it requires some imagination—but not much.

Inside Of The Painting

What does it look like
Inside of the painting?
What would it be like
To live in that world?

Thorn Bush (a poem)

This week I have a short poem for you about a plant in our garden. It’s about more than that, really, but I’ll let it speak for itself:

Thorn Bush

The bush in our garden
Is covered with thorns

Days Like Blackberries

It’s blackberry season in Ireland right now, and our family has a yearly tradition of picking them. They’re not hard to find. The vines are growing in the hedges along the roads, reaching out into the paths in the woods, climbing over the old stone walls in the fields, and all of them covering themselves in juicy, plump, sweet little berries. Like candy, except healthier, and with thornier packaging. And free! They just grow, right out of the ground, in loads of public places where we can pick and eat and keep as many as we want. Last weekend we got almost four pounds on one family walk which are now (thanks to my wife) three jars of delicious homemade jam. Can you believe we live in a world where there are jam-bushes growing wild?