This morning, I didn’t just step onto my balcony—I stepped into a moment with God.
The kind of moment that doesn’t need a soundtrack, a filter, or a script. The kind of moment where stillness becomes sacred and creation becomes a sermon.
The Caribbean Sea shimmered like a sacred mirror. Trees stood tall in worship. The birds offered a soundtrack of joy that no Spotify playlist could ever touch. The moment whispered: “Pay attention.”
And I did.
That quiet space became my teacher, and nature became the pulpit. As I sat there, I began to understand something profound: God speaks through creation, and His whispers ride on the wind.
What Nature Taught Me: Lessons From the Earth
1. The Earth Doesn’t Rush—Yet Everything Grows
The hillside didn’t stress. The trees weren’t anxious. Not a single flower strained to bloom.
Yet they were thriving.
It reminded me that sometimes, we equate faith with hustle. But real faith knows how to slow down and trust divine timing. Nature teaches us that there is fruit in patience. One of the greatest spiritual lessons from nature is this: you don’t have to force growth when you’re rooted in the right soil.
2. Birds Sing Without Knowing What Comes Next
The birds chirping above weren’t worried about what to eat tomorrow or whether their song would be liked.
They just sang.
And their joy hit me hard. Faith and creation go hand in hand—the birds trust because they know who holds tomorrow. It made me ask myself: when did I stop singing just because I was alive?
3. The Sea Reflects Light Without Trying
As I stared at the calm, glistening waves, I saw the sea do what it does best: reflect.
Not compare. Not compete. Just reflect.
How often do we try to be impressive, rather than simply being present? One of the most underrated lessons from nature is that your job is to reflect God’s light, not manufacture your own.
4. Trees Grow in Their Lane—Without Comparison
There was a papaya tree standing right next to a mango tree. Neither one tried to shrink itself or outgrow the other. They just grew.
In this age of comparison and online image, nature reminds us how to slow down in life and grow authentically. You don’t need to be like anyone else. You just need to grow in your calling.
5. The Wind Moves Things That Stand Still
The wind came in softly, rustling the leaves, moving without apology.
It reminded me of the Holy Spirit—invisible, yet present. Gentle, but powerful. And I realized: some things only move when we get still enough to let the Spirit breathe on them.
If you’ve been asking how to hear God’s voice clearly, look no further than your garden, your shoreline, your front step. Hearing God in stillness often starts with honoring the silence.
Soul Tips From the Earth to the Overwhelmed
If your soul feels cluttered and tired, let creation offer you counsel:
- Go outside without an agenda. Let your spirit breathe again.
- Listen to creation. Don’t just see it—hear it. God still speaks through rustling leaves.
- Reflect instead of striving. You are not behind. You are being prepared.
- Unplug to reconnect. The world doesn’t need another busy person. It needs a present one.
- Write what nature teaches you. Keep a journal for your outdoor encounters with God. You’ll be surprised how spiritual they feel.
A Personal Moment I Can’t Keep to Myself
As I sat overlooking the sea, the Holy Spirit whispered something so intimate it stopped me cold:
“Alecia, I didn’t just make the sea you’re looking at. I made you. And I am holding you both.”
That moment changed me.
Sometimes the most profound revelation doesn’t come through a sermon, a podcast, or a mentor. Sometimes, it comes through a tree, a breeze, or a bird.
Nature isn’t just beautiful. It’s biblical. It’s therapeutic. And when we slow down, it becomes holy.
A Prayer From the Balcony
Abba Father,
Thank You for mornings where creation becomes my classroom. Thank You for the sea that reminds me of Your depth, for the trees that show me how to stand, and for the birds that teach me to trust. Quiet my spirit until I can hear You clearly. Set my pace by Your peace, not my pressure. Help me to grow in my lane, reflect Your light, and follow Your breath wherever it leads. I trust You—not just in the storm, but in the stillness too.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
With love and perspective,
Alecia S. Spence