Made to Praise Him: A Poem of Worshipful Walking

Columbine at Wild River State Park

Today is the birthday of a good friend, but he isn't here to celebrate. It's his first birthday in heaven, and our first spring without him.

Throughout my teen and college years, the coming of spring meant the resumption of family walks with Mr. and Mrs. Morris. Whenever my brother and I heard they were joining us for a state park outing, we knew it would be a long outing, but not an arduous one. Mr. and Mrs. Morris didn't walk to log miles. They walked to see birds, flowers, butterflies, moths, and any pretty view you might find along the way. There was no hurry to get to a certain point. When you walked, you explored, binoculars at the ready, identification books in your pack. At each new bloom or bird, you stopped, observed, and identified. Thus we learned the name of wildflowers, and when and where to look for different birds, and yet it was never boring. Mr. and Mrs. Morris were always quick to see the beauty and wonder of everything--to point out the masterpiece of God's wise design in creation.

Of course there were days when we did not see much of anything, but we never came home disappointed. The conversation between sights was rich, filled with ideas to think through, humor from lived experience, and encouragement from the Word. This mingling of love of nature and love of the Word blended into a song of wonder, faith, and worship. It was the very best way to enjoy the woods.

The poem below is a reflection of our nature outings with Mr. and Mrs. Morris and their legacy of worshipful walking.

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Made to Praise Him

Come my friend, and with me walk
Wander through the woods and talk
See again in fresh array
What our God has made today
        All that we might praise Him

Seek the bower of the trees
Cottonwoods clap waxy leaves
Birches in cool breezes sway
Pines are whispering today
        Growing tall to praise Him

Look! Quick! See the flash of red
Glimpse an iridescent head
Hear the warblers’ “sweet, sweet, sweet”
Woodpecker’s percussion beat
        Wings on high to praise Him 

Columbine bejewel our way
Violets, peas perfume the day
Humans never tend this land
Cultivated by His hand
        Blooming now to praise Him

Stop and look at each rare sight
Count not miles but delights
Petals, feathers each a sign
Bearing marks of wise design
        Stop and stare and praise Him

Woods give way to fields bright
Thistle blooms dance in sunlight
Songs of crickets, honey bees
Prairie grasses’ symphony
        Meadows made to praise Him 

Slow, don’t rush. Reflect a bit
Watch the swallows as they flit
Bluebird sings his summer song
Melodies to make us long
        For sweeter voice to praise Him

See the flowers, how they grow
Birds, they neither reap nor sow
God supplies their daily feed
He’ll not leave His own in need
        Pray and trust and praise Him

Sit, converse, and eat your fill
Rest and make time to be still
Think of all the things we’ve seen
Thank the Lord for company
        Friends who help us praise Him

Dark is rising, start the cars
Drive home under veil of stars
Knowing even while we sleep
Galaxies His praise repeat
        All creation praise Him