God Made the Snowy Owl
The morning sun rose gently over Franconia Notch in the White Mountains of
New Hampshire, brushing the forest with soft gold. Snow still lingered
beneath tall evergreens, but winter was loosening its grip. From the hills
above, melting snow fed the brooks until they rushed loudly over stone and
root. The sound filled the valley—strong, joyful, alive—thrilling the soul and
bringing peace all at once. The children paused to listen, feeling as though
the forest itself was speaking. “The heavens declare the glory of God; and
the firmament sheweth his handywork” (Psalm 19:1, KJV).
The two siblings, one ten and the other twelve, followed their uncle, a park
ranger, along the trail. Most children might have complained about damp boots
or muddy patches, but these two loved science and discovery. “Hear how fast the
water is moving,” the older one said in wonder. “That’s because of the melting
snow.” Their uncle nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “creation changes with the
seasons, just as God designed it.” The rushing water sparkled in the sunlight,
reflecting flashes of silver and light that seemed almost heavenly.
As they walked, the ranger shared stories of winter wildlife. “Some creatures
stay,” he explained, “and some visit only for a season.” The younger child’s
eyes brightened. “Like the Snowy Owl?” The ranger smiled. “Exactly. A wintry
owl—white with soft tan markings—built to survive cold places.” The children
imagined the owl’s wide wings and sharp eyes, silently gliding above snowy
fields. “O LORD, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them
all” (Psalm 104:24, KJV).
Before returning to the trail, they stepped into a cozy gift shop near the
trailhead. Warm light glowed over shelves filled with nature treasures—field
guides, carved birds, pine-scented candles, and plush woodland animals. The
children laughed as they discovered a Snowy Owl puppet, white and fluffy
with gentle tan feathers and golden eyes. “This will help us remember our
adventure,” the younger one said, hugging it close. Even here, among small
novelties, the wonders of creation were celebrated.
A break from the cool air was encouraged by their uncle. “Hot chocolate,
anyone?” he asked cheerfully. Inside a small lodge, steam rose from mugs topped
with marshmallows. The children warmed their hands and cheeks, gazing out the
window at sunlight dancing on the rushing stream. The owl puppet sat proudly
between them, as if listening too. In that peaceful moment, the older child
whispered, “It feels like God is close here.” “Be still, and know that I am
God” (Psalm 46:10, KJV).
Back on the trail, they observed tracks in the softening snow—deer, fox, and
birds. The ranger explained how melting snow revealed clues about animal habits
and habitats. “Learning to observe is part of loving creation,” he said. The
children took notes, thrilled by each discovery. They realized that science was
not separate from faith; it was a way of appreciating God’s careful design.
Their journey would not end in New Hampshire. Months later, their curiosity
carried them far north—to Alaska, where Snowy Owls truly belong. Wide
open tundra stretched beneath a pale sky, dotted with lingering snow and early
signs of spring. Here, the land felt vast and quiet, as if waiting. The ranger
reminded them to move slowly and watch carefully. “The earth is the LORD’s,
and the fulness thereof” (Psalm 24:1, KJV).
Then it happened. Perched on a low rise near a thawing stream sat a Snowy
Owl, magnificent and still. Its feathers gleamed white against the land,
touched with soft tan markings that caught the light. “There!” whispered the
twelve-year-old, heart racing. “It’s real.” The ten-year-old could barely
breathe. “It’s beautiful.” The owl turned its head slowly, golden eyes bright
and alert.
Most kids would have complained about the long walk or the cool breeze, but not
these two. They leaned in with quiet excitement. “Look at its feathers,” the
younger one whispered. “They’re so thick—perfect for the cold.” “And its
talons,” the older one added, “strong for hunting.” Their uncle smiled. “God
equips every creature for its purpose,” he said gently.
For a brief moment, the owl lifted its wings, stretching wide, then settled
again. The children gasped softly. “I’ll never forget this,” one said. “Me
neither,” the other replied. Even the owl puppet seemed to come alive in their
hands, a small reminder of the great wonder before them. “O LORD our Lord,
how excellent is thy name in all the earth!” (Psalm 8:9, KJV).
As they quietly stepped away, the ranger spoke one final lesson. “God often
teaches us through what He has made. When we watch, listen, and care, we learn
more about Him.” The rushing water nearby echoed the truth—life moving forward,
strong and purposeful. The children felt grateful, humbled, and joyful.
They returned home changed, carrying memories of sparkling streams, melting
snow, and a wintry owl seen with their own eyes. They understood now that
creation is a living classroom, always pointing back to its Maker. And whenever
they heard rushing water or saw sunlight glitter on snow, they remembered that
day—and the God whose marvelous works had drawn them closer to wonder,
learning, and faith.
No comments:
Post a Comment
We LOVE comments
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.