Poppies

In Burtigny, Switzerland there is a hill I climbed several times during my stay. Though autumn had secured much of the landscape, there remained a few bright red poppies blooming on the edge of a farmer’s field. Situated just above this field was a small woodland area with an enticing walking path through the heart of it. It didn’t seem to matter to me if the day were sunny and mild, or cloudy and wet, I still wanted to walk up the hill, venture into the woods if time allowed, and always visit the poppies.

. . .

Poppies await the arrival of hikers, or fowl, or whatever may wander up their way. Their brilliant red heads provide an imagined explanation to their name as they pop out of the green grass and brag about their presence—unashamedly. Their purpose is clear: demand attention and transfix all with their beauty. Saturated in crimson, they can do nothing else.

A victim of a poppy’s heavenly hex may, in that transfixed state, ask the question of this flower’s origin. And though I believe I know the answer as to its beginnings, still, my spirit is compelled to follow the spell’s enchantment and ask the question: Who made this thing of uncommon beauty which greets me on my way up the hill?

The answer pours down from the heavens in a wind, tumbles into the forest, and down to where I stand. Embedded in that brisk breeze is the Father’s stirring voice. He takes the credit.

But now ask the beasts, and let them teach you;

And the birds of the heavens, and let them tell you.

Or speak to the earth, and let it teach you;

And let the fish of the sea declare to you.

Who among all these does not know

That the hand of the Lord has done this,

In whose hand is the life of every living thing,

And the breath of all mankind?

Job 12:7-10

“Of course, it is You!” I say aloud. Resonating with the satisfaction that comes from putting broken pieces back together, my soul breathes in his goodness.

I asked and he answered. This calling back to one another in question and answer, stimulated by the wonders he placed all around, seems to be the in and out breathing he intended for us. We see his marvelous works, our spirits long to know him, so we call to him, and he breathes life into us as he reminds our earth-pinned souls of who he is.

This is a picture of him loving us first. He put those poppies there first. He ordered the sun to rise first. He caused the waves to crash first, the stars to shine, the moon to beam, the clouds to thunder. Then, we saw the works of his hands and called to him. And he answered.

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

It is an honor, don’t you think, to join the mighty chorus of voices—the wind, the heavens, the poppies—in declaring the glory of God?

And blessed be His glorious name forever;

And may the whole earth be filled with His glory.

Amen, and Amen.

Psalm 72:19