Morning Has Broken

Sometimes when I walk in my neighborhood, especially in this springtime of the year, I am struck by the many varieties of flowers and plants, the grass and trees, the lush greens under the blue sky. Who would have thought there were so many shades of green? My heart is filled with joy. And I sometimes say out loud, “Lord, your garden is still flourishing on this earth.”

As I stroll along my street, there is one home that has a stunning display of roses. And sometimes when the roses are in full glory the woman of that house puts out a sign: “Stop and smell the roses.” And I do. They are lush and lovely and fragrant. It’s not something that comes naturally for me. My dear wife, Sharon, taught me how to look and notice the details of the beautiful flowers and leaves and tree bark. And yes, I am still missing her every day, but at times like this, it is a happy memory. I am grateful for this important practice that she imparted to me, and I know she would be pleased that I am noticing this beauty.

Once we were walking along the continental divide in Rocky Mountain National Park, Sharon and I and a friend. We were well above the timber line, it seemed that there were just rocks. The only way to mark the trail was to follow the little pyramids of stones (cairns) to guide our way. But as we looked more closely, we saw the delicate, tiny flowers that could grow in the tundra. We were careful not to step on this fragile growth. And Sharon got to her knees and admired these brave and lovely flowers. It was all so pure and untouched and natural.

It reminded me of that first garden, what it must have been like, and that popular song, “Morning Has Broken,” which was not written by Cat Steven but by Eleanor Farjeon in 1931. She was asked to write a hymn to help children express gratitude every day for God’s creation. “Morning has broken like the first morning.” Each new day reminds us of that first morning, that first bird singing, the first dewfall on the first grass . . . born of the one light Eden saw play. We tend to take each new day as a common place of natural events, but as G.K. Chesterton suggests, “What if God says each day—do it again.” And each spring with the miraculous “springing” to life from that which seemed very dead, what if God says—do it again!

To be honest, this spring came hard for me this year. Because of my grieving, I couldn’t, or didn’t want to let myself feel the excitement again this year. It wouldn’t be the same without Sharon. It is strange that this can seem like a betrayal of my grief, but of course, it is not. I finally succumbed to the invitation to join in the dance of joy. Even in my sorrow, I was won over by the lavish beauty everywhere I looked. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome.

By now, you have heard me say this a dozen times, the opposite of joy is not sorrow. I am finding joy mingled with sorrow every day. The opposite of joy is despair and hopelessness. As my counselor reminds me, there is a difference between grief and depression. Grief is a healthy and normal response to deep loss; depression is letting the darkness take over. The interplay between hope and joy is constant; they play off each another. My hope is that God is with me and will continue to be with me as my comforter, and that brings me joy. And the joy that stubbornly keeps springing up in my soul produces hope in me. And of course, that hope is built on the assurance of what I have come to firmly believe to be true. (But that is for another day.)

Back to the flowers, our apple trees are so packed full of blossoms now that the branches look like sticks of cotton candy, almost unreal. I marvel that they can pack that many blossoms into such a small space. And soon they will be giving way to small leaves and miniature crab apples. I watched last year as those tiny apples were feeding the birds and squirrels all through the winter months. God is good, his works are marvelous. We can see so much beauty, even in this fallen, imperfect world.

And once again, our hearts are drawn to that first Garden, where there was sweet fellowship with God, the food was there for the picking, the water was pure and sweet and refreshing. The garden of God was filled with beauty of every imaginable flowers and lush plants and trees, with rivers and brooks, rolling hills and valleys. It was a place a peace—shalom—where all is well and harmonious, where the worship of God is natural and continual and joyful. We have this yearning because we have a sense that this broken, decaying world is not the way it is supposed to be. And one day this earth will be renewed, finally restored (and more than restored) to its re-created glory.

And we are reminded that we were made for joy, and we are destined for joy. For now, let’s just enjoy this spring and let it bring joy to our hearts. Let me urge you to get outside, allow yourself to get lost in the beauty, the wonder, and the joy of God’s good creation, where he says to the good earth, “do it again.”