At the invitation of a sister-in-heart to join her book study this past winter, I encountered "The Good and Beautiful God", written by James Bryan Smith. There were many wonderful truths I discovered during our walk through the book, in which the author invites readers to become more intimate with "the God that Jesus knows". I was also greatly impacted by the soul training exercises found at the end of each chapter.
When we finished the book study in March, I felt like I had only skimmed the surface of the soul training aspect of the book. I decided to focus more fully on the suggested exercises throughout the remainder of this year. At that time, there were nine months left in 2021 and nine chapters in the book, with one soul training exercise for each chapter. I could concentrate on one exercise per month, I thought. How handy is that!
I also asked my co-book-studier to hold me accountable to my intention by checking in with me at the end of each month, finding out what I learned and what impressed me about that month's particular soul training exercise. My friend readily agreed to be my accountability partner. How dandy is that!
For the month of May, at the end of the chapter on the goodness of God, there were actually two soul training exercises: Silence and Awareness of Creation. These two disciplines, the author wrote, would "help us begin to experience the goodness of God" by "slowing down, becoming quiet, and learning to be present in the present moment" and by "paying attention to the beauty that surrounds us."
I found that the Awareness of Creation aspect of the exercises could not have been more fitting for the month of May.
When May began to fade into June, I considered how I might answer my accountability friend's usual end-of-the-month question about Soul Training, I thought perhaps I could do it in writing. I decided I would share my impressions with her by listing some things I observed in nature during times of silence and becoming more aware of God's goodness in Creation. While I do that for her here, I guess you all get to listen in.
I learned more of the goodness of God as I observed:
~ spring breezes setting aspen leaves to shimmering like so many cascading sequins in sunlight
~ a bird on the lawn contemplating a piece of last year's ornamental grass, trying it on for size in its beak, and finally flying off nestward, trailing the very long dried stalk behind itself like a banner
~ a great blue heron overhead, streamlined as a weapon complete with bayonet beak, making numerous journeys on its invisible flight track above our orchard
~ thick slabs of woodland fungi, big as dinner plates, shelved against a tree trunk
~ elegant, lacy-fronded fern chalices cupping dew and sunlight in their mysterious green depths
~ sprigs of delicate white baby's breath whispering I love you echoes in Mother's Day bouquet
~ a seemingly very new swallowtail butterfly, trapped and flapping in the orchard grasses until I gently released it to float daintily above the apple treetops
~ a swarm of bees forsaking their hive and going rogue in finding a new dwelling place, but protecting their old queen (keeping her cool and safe) the whole time
~ Red Delicious rows by the garden outdoing themselves in this spring's apple blossom production
~ a yellow bird, not a goldfinch but maybe a warbler, flit-flying just ahead of me and my bike, darting from the bushes on one side of the rail trail to the other
~ the springtime bouquets of garden flowers, such as lilacs and peonies, that fill the room with scent so heady it could bowl you over
~ slender, crisp and crimson stalks of rhubarb, at once drawing your mouth together with its tanginess and drawing you in with its deliciousness when coupled with sweetness of pastry or batter
~ a rich and slow rain falling steadily on the thirsty earth, so welcome one can hardly keep from going out and dancing in it
~ trunk of a yellow birch tree, looking for all the world like it's had a bad hair day
~ diminutive green-suited clergyman named Jack, preaching for days on end from his striped umbrellaed pulpit
~ clouds as poetry in the sky - clumped and humped, bright and sprite, swept and crept, scattered and tattered, fluffy and scruffy, thick and quick - new lines of verse every day
~ an oriole outside a basement window, infatuated with its handsome orange and black self image in the glass
~ back at the cabin in the woods, a most cunning and spring-loaded gray squirrel that bypassed baffles (and other squirrel deterrents) and reached the silo birdfeeder containing peanuts by leaping up into the air 4 or 5 feet from a fallen log on the forest floor
~ crinkled variegation sprinkled pink and scarlet in ivy geranium hanging basket
"God, I worship you, and praise you for your goodness that you revealed to me during the month of May. During my times of Awareness of Creation, I saw your creativity, your provision, your beauty, your timeliness, your faithfulness, your power, your generosity, your kindness, and your extravagance. Truly you are a God of goodness."
