🌿 Finding God in All Things: A Legacy My Grandfather Left Me

My grandfather was a lover of nature. Not in a loud or showy way, but in the quiet, reverent way of someone who understood that creation itself is a gift. He shared that love with our family, and some of my most treasured childhood memories were shaped by it—camping deep in the woods of Bear Swamp, fishing at local lakes, and wandering down long trails where the world felt still and sacred.

As kids, we didn’t realize how much we were learning. We were just searching for the perfect sticks to turn into bows and arrows or gathering leaves for my grandma to help us wax and preserve. But looking back, I see it clearly now: he was teaching us to pay attention. To notice the small things. To see beauty in the ordinary. To understand that creation is not just scenery—it’s a language God speaks.

“For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made.”  

Romans 1:20

My grandfather passed away recently, and our family no longer makes those trips to Bear Swamp or the nearby lakes. Life has shifted, as it tends to do. But the memories remain vivid—almost more vivid now than before. They rise up like gentle reminders that the best parts of him didn’t disappear. They live on in the way I breathe deeper when I step outside, in the way I pause to watch a bird land on a fence post, in the way I feel closest to God when I’m surrounded by the world He made.

Nature was my grandfather’s sanctuary, and in many ways, it became mine too.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.”  

Psalm 19:1

Even now, I sometimes forget he’s gone. When I’m out working on the farm, knee-deep in hay or laughing at one of the animals’ antics, I’ll catch myself thinking, I should call Grandpa and tell him this. When a deer steps quietly into the field at dusk, or a bright, unusual bird lands at the feeder, my first instinct is still to reach for the phone. It’s a habit formed over years of sharing little wonders with the person who taught me to notice them.

And every time that instinct hits, there’s a small ache—but also a strange kind of gratitude. Because the fact that I still want to tell him means his influence didn’t end. It means his love for nature is alive in me, shaping the way I see the world, nudging me toward God in the everyday moments he taught me to treasure.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”  

Psalm 46:10

I’m thankful for a grandfather who showed me how to be still. How to look. How to listen. How to find God in all things. And even though the trails we once walked together have grown quiet, the lessons he taught me echo on—every time the wind moves through the trees.

A Sunday Prayer

Lord, thank You for the people who teach us to see You in the world around us. Thank You for the memories that shape us, the beauty that reminds us of Your presence, and the quiet moments where Your voice feels close. Help me carry forward the love, wonder, and gratitude my grandfather planted in me. Let my eyes stay open to Your fingerprints in all things. Amen.