Every Nook & Cranny

Fall is on the way. I can tell because Texas has gone from a high of 108° to only 92°. For anyone up North, that simply means it went from hot to a little less hot, but for this native Texan, 16 degrees truly feels so much cooler.

Along with the more temperate weather is a subtle shift in the light of the sun. I couldn’t help but notice this yesterday as I stepped into my backyard to take breaks from my computer screen. Again, while biking a trail with my dad, I noticed the quality of sunlight was different than in weeks past: clean, crisp, slightly dimmer but no less brilliant, warm but not hot. No haze hanging in the sky!

It may still hit over 90° each day, but that special light feels like fall.

I’m aware of the upcoming equinox and the shifting of the earth in its relation to the sun as we continue to revolve around the yellow star. But to see with my own two eyes the effects of the seasons changing? Awe-inspiring.

It reminds me of sophomore year of college — the one I spent at home because of COVID. It was the first time in two years that I watched autumn ease its way into the warm Texas climate; the first time I paid such close attention to the seasons changing. I spent many minutes sitting in the backyard, soaking up the sun, and taking breaks from studying. I walked dogs while listening to “Sun Blind” by Fleet Foxes, observing the same light that I find myself marveling at today.

I experienced similar feelings of wonder last month as I traveled, essentially, all across the United States. From a family trip in Florida to visiting friends in Colorado, then on to the coasts of California and Cape Cod. In each place, I found myself amazed at all the nooks and crannies upon this earth.

Though I saw much through simply observing the scenery out my window — whether it was mountains, ocean, forest, or desert — I couldn’t help but think that what I saw hardly scratched the surface of all that exists on this planet we call earth.

I may see the peaks of mountains out my passenger window, but will I ever stand on top of them? See what lies on the other side? I may gaze upon expansive landscapes and heavily wooded areas, but will I ever walk through them? Tread the surface beyond the blacktop of the road I’m rolling along?

The world is so big. There is so much I will never see, so many places and people and cultures I will never encounter. And this morning, with these thoughts floating around in my head for the past month, I read a few verses that pointed it all back to God:

For the Lord is a great God,
a great King above all gods.
The depths of the earth are in his hand,
and the mountain peaks are his.
The sea is his; he made it.
His hands formed the dry land. (Psalm 95:3-5)

For some reason, knowing God is present throughout His creation is reassuring, comforting. He made the earth; He knows every little nook and cranny; therefore, I don’t have to. Perhaps I’m comforted by the thought that the vast and empty parts of this world aren’t as lonely as they appear. All the seemingly desolate places are filled with His presence.

As of late, I’ve had the privilege of marveling at how present God is in His creation. His voice whispers like the wind rustling through the trees in Cape Cod; His promises stand as sturdy as the Flatirons in Boulder; His power is resembled in the crash and roar of each California ocean wave.

Now, as summer turns to fall once again, I see Him in the shifting sunlight. I remember His mercies are new each cool morning. I’m reminded that as the seasons change, He remains the same.

In the coming months, I hope you also get to pause and witness the spectacle of all God has created. It’s one of His many, many gifts to us!

As always, thank you for reading.