The God of Big and Small

In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. – Psalm 95:4-5

Who is this God, who created the majestic snow-capped mountains robed in deep azure blues, deep royal purples and topped by a ribbon of sky that stretches across the horizon?

Who is this God, who commanded that the waters gather into vast oceans, at depths unimaginable, teeming with whales and sea lions, with dall porpoises and sea otters – oceans that ripple in calm wind and roil and crash when the storms unleash their fury?

Who is this God, who in unfathomable creativity made the tiniest of flowers that cling to the soil, robed in every color imaginable? Or who designed mushrooms in all shapes and sizes, and evergreens that drip with perfectly formed drops of dew in the early morning sunrise?

Who is this God?

We recently returned from a two week tip to Alaska, and I am still mulling over in my mind all that we experienced while there. Have you ever had an experience that was almost too beautiful…too sacred…to find words for? That’s where I’ve been with Alaska..I feel that anything I write will be far too inadequate to capture the beauty we witnessed in that land.

Knowing what to write about Alaska is also challenging. There’s so much I could focus on – I could share about the amazing time we had with our kid’s 84 year old grandparents who traveled with us – the laughter, the adventures, the conversations, the food…and did I mention the laughter? It was a time of making sweet memories.

I could focus on the gift God has given me, in a husband who is always up for adventure – who took great care of all of us – and who went along with my crazy itinerary, which resulted in 2,200+ miles put on our rental car – all of which he drove.

I could share all of this and more…but where I feel pulled to, is to share with you, dear reader, the glimpses of God’s holy characteristics nearly everywhere we looked.

The God of all Grandeur

In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. ~ Psalm 95:4-5

I’ve seen mountains before. I’ve been to the Rockies; I’ve driven up Mount Rainer. I’ve hiked in the North Cascades. I’ve stood at 9,200 feet elevation under a million stars and planets on top of Mauna Kea.

I’ve been in the depths of the earth – in Mammoth Cave and Carlsbad Caverns, where the air is damp and cool, where water seeps and drips creating otherworldly formations, and bats hang upside down waiting for dusk to fly from the mouth of the cave in search of food.

And I’ve sat alone on secluded beaches under brilliant blue canopy skies in Hawaii, with no one nearby, and stared as far out as my eyes could see, to watch the sun drop below the horizon in a burst of color.

All tremendously beautiful places.

But none of these places prepared me for the grand majesty of the mountains, the sky, and the sea in Alaska.

At times, while we were traversing the state, we would find ourselves absolutely surrounded by snow-peaked mountains – on every single side. We pulled the car over time after time, thinking that surely THIS stop would be the best view….only to hop back in the car, drive a mile down the road and find ourselves pulling over again —

–because the view was even better. Clearer. More heartstopping.

We also took a boat across the open sea in roiling waves – the day was stormy and grey. Most passengers stayed inside the cabin, away from the sting of the salt sea spray and the roaring wind that took your breath away.

Not so, I.

I found myself pulled to stand at the very tip of the bow as we rose and fell between the waves, when everyone else had sheltered inside. I didn’t want to miss a thing. My eyes longed to take in everything surrounding us – and, when we finally reached our destination, my heart quickened. We were at the foot of an enormous blue ice glacier, which cracked and calved with tremendous roars and thunderous sounds. A remarkable sight, that is difficult to describe.

In these moments of standing in the towering shadows of the magnificent ranges, or flying over the ocean swells, or being startled by every enormous crack of the ice as it fell into the ocean….I felt so, so small.

In a very, very good way.

In those small moments, my soul was overcome by awe of who God is – a holy reverence and fear of the one who created all the immense things that I can see – the sky, the mountains, the sea teeming with whales, themselves huge creatures.

In those moments, I was reminded that God is….God.

I lose that awe in the day to day. I forget that need – the command, even – to be still and know that He is God. I forget at times, in the fog and busyness of each day, that the God who rescued me from my dreadful sin, and from tremendously hard things – is the same God who breathed out his majesty into this world, forming the sky, the depths of the sea, the towering mountains. I even forget when I am in the middle of studying scripture; when singing worship, when praying from my soul.

When I am confronted with how small I am, and how infinite my Father God is…I regain spiritual reality. I am reminded that this is not my home – this big, beautiful, mountain-filled and ocean-laced world under the big blue sky, with all its accompanying heartache and pain and grief and sin and unspeakable things is not my home.

That what awaits is far better.

And the God who has formed the mighty, thunderous, majestic mountains and oceans and sky…is the same God who sees my small self, and loves me enough to give his Son, to die on the cross for my sins.

Grace upon grace, is what this is.

The God of the Small, the Tiny, the Fragile

The fascinating dichotomy that confronted me nearly every place we visited in Alaska was the juxtaposition of the massiveness of the mountains, sky and sea….and the infinitesimal details in the tiniest of living things: the flowers, the mushrooms, the drops of water clinging to evergreen branches. The small sounds in a hushed woods.

In many of the places we visited, we learned from park rangers just how fragile life is in the frozen tundra. There is a tremendously short growing season. Flowers that cling tenaciously to the soil are incredibly fragile. Their roots hold on through sheer grit and determination, battered by winds and eventually by snow and ice.

As I examined the tiny, delicate, beautiful flowers, the brilliant red berries, the green needles of the trees, and the brightly colored fungus growing on trees and forest floors, I was amazed by the intricate details. Each one looked hand-crafted; created with the utmost care and thought and love. I took many pictures of the mighty things – the mountains, the ocean – but I am sure that I took just as many, if not more, of the tiny…the exquisite…the intricate.

And in the same way that feeling small in the awe of who God is was good for my soul, so was this:

The same God who takes great care and attention to create the very tiniest of fragile and beautiful things, takes that same amount of care and attention in caring for my soul.

That same God…

….knows my name
….knows my thoughts
….knows my deepest joys and fathomless sorrows

…and loves me with a deeper love than I can ever imagine.

And when I am most fragile, it is only his strength that allows me to cling to him and to the truth and hope I find within scripture.

The beauty of creation points us towards our God. It reminds us of who He is, and who we are. It sets within us the longing for our forever home, when we shall be with Him.

There shall be a day.

And as those tiny alpine flowers cling to the soil, my soul would do well to cling to the maker of my soul, the one who sees and knows, the God of the mountains and the God of the tiniest seed.

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” ~ C.S. Lewis