I draw great encouragement from nature. God speaks to me through his creation, displaying his glory in profound and simple ways.

After an incredibly busy month, we are enjoying a holiday in a friend’s apartment in the Netherlands. Like other parts of Europe, it is hot with especially warm nights. We lie with the large window partly open, aware that there is time to rest if we don’t sleep the whole night. We are not in a rush. We have nowhere to be by a designated time, so we read longer, talk and drink coffee, while the birds entertain us in song.

Birdsong is among most natural sounds in the world, and yet it is so complex. Each species has a different call and a different song; the diversity is huge. Seemingly chaotic notes, discord and harmony, shift and change as they blend into a mellifluous chorus. People say that a bird’s song is shaped by its environment. Maybe that’s true, but I believe it is God who gives them voice.

As we listen, one bird cuts across the chorus. His cry is deep and loud like a long laugh. My bird app tells me that he is a yellow-legged gull, common in mainland Europe, less so in England. Yet somehow even his gruff discord is enfolded in the symphony, a reminder that God blends and displays his glory in a variety of ways.

The juxtaposition of the ordinary and extraordinary, each created by God, reminds me of hearing a scientist say that our earth and all that dwells here are so precisely formed, so delicately balanced that no cosmic accident could have caused such exactitude. Perhaps, as I age, the Creator becomes clearer to me in his creation – I’m not quite sure.

Roses grow the other side of the pavement just beyond our front door. Planted several years ago by the local council they are now large and mature. This year the bushes have been laden with flowers. Tight-budded, the flowers quietly open day by day until their velvety petals diffuse their sweetness into the sultry summer air.

This summer those roses captured my attention and not just mine. Pedestrians, passing the cottage window, halt their steps. Drawn to the roses for a moment or two, they bury their noses in the blooms to drink in the delicate scent.

The heavy blossom soon weighs down the sharp-thorned stems. The petals soften and, by evening they start to fall gracefully to the ground. Theirs is a fragile, short-lived beauty, but they faithful bear of their aroma, neither constrained nor holding back. They allow the sun’s warmth to release their bouquet, sharing it with the world.

A simple picture, full of hope. And another reminder that God is in his creation; and that, as Christians, we too are perfumed, for we carry with us the aroma of Christ. And God desires that our lives cause people to pause, so that they too might stop to catch fragrance of the Son.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2026