Christine and I stood at a scenic overlook in east Texas. We leaned out over the stone guardrail in front of us, the bright greens of spring stretching out over the hills. The clouds that had made the morning cold and gray were gone and the sunshine was warm on my skin. For the first time on our weekend road trip, we were both quiet.
“I don’t know how someone could look at all of this and believe there is no God,” Christine said.
Although they are separated by a few thousand years and several thousand miles, Christine and the David found essentially the same thing: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork” (Psa. 19:1). Christine saw God’s hand in the lush hills of east Texas, and King David found God’s fingerprints in the heavens. A sunset reflecting in the waves of a white sand Florida beach, storm clouds stretching over flat Lubbock cotton fields, sunlight glinting through oak tree branches on an Oklahoma summer evening—all declare the glory of God.
The longer I consider all that God created, the more sure I become that the world was no accident. Heb. 11:3 says, “By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.” Through our faith, we know that there is more than what we see. Christine’s wise words implied more than just “enjoying the scenery.” The intricate design of the universe can’t help but point to a brilliant Designer.
At some point, we’ve probably all pondered just how huge and unfathomable the universe is and then a realization hit: we are so, incredibly small. We are just tiny specks on one planet of one solar system of one galaxy. We know David contemplated these big thoughts; in Psa. 8:3-4, he said, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” What a humbling question! When David considered the night sky, just like Christine considered the green east Texas hills, he felt miniscule. Rightly so; in one sense, we are incredibly insignificant. I am one in a world of billions of people, and I live on the tiniest speck in an incomprehensibly enormous universe. Yet, despite my tiny stature compared to the earth and the universe, I have value to God, just as you are valuable and just as is each one of those billions of people. We have such value that he sent his Son to be a sacrifice for us, as 1 Jn. 4:10 tells us. “In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.”
So when you’re stuck in the car on your family road trip with your siblings chatting your ears off, take a glance out your window to find the same glory of God that King David and Christine found. On the Fourth of July, when you are waving bright sparklers through the air with your cousins, think about the humble question David asked in Psa. 8. The creation around you speaks of a Creator. If you look, you’ll find that David was right; God’s works declare His glory.