March 11,1997
Dear Br. Sanderland:
You may wonder why I include colorful pictures in the letters that I send to you. I assure you, they are expensive to reproduce, but they are included for a very special reason.
It is our mission, at Homeward-Bound Family Services, to reflect
the glory or character of God. It doesn’t take someone with
special insight to discern that God is a lover of the beautiful.
He clothes the ground with a carpet of vivid green grass, and
colors the sky a variegated blue with fluffy white clouds floating
in its tranquil midst while splashes of orange, yellow, red, brilliant
hues of scarlet, purple, and vermillion guild the eastern or western
skies in the morning or evening. The hillsides and roadways are
decked out in brilliant flowers of a thousand varieties and colors.
The trees, in the fall, shed their greenery and take on a coat
of many colors. There are colorful fruits and vegetables to delight
the eye and satisfy the taste. The birds proudly display their
gorgeously colorful coats. The brilliant red of the robin, the
pretty blue of the blue jay and the brightly colored butterflies
lend their spectacular hues to God’s creation.
The beautiful lilies upon the still waters of the pond, the waving
cattails that line its edges, and the brown and green frogs that
sing among the rushes, all testify to a God who is a lover of
the beautiful.
The snow capped mountains that stand majestically amid the lower
tree covered hills, the mighty cataract of splashing waters that
descend from the dizzying heights to combine into the leisurely
flowing grand rivers, the yellow and browns of the deserts with
their dusty green cacti, the endless prairies of waving green
or yellow grasses, the wrestles blue/green oceans, and palm covered
tropical islands, the endless forests of the northlands, the lakes
and streams and rivers that dot the landscape, all lend their
voices in testimony of the creator’s character of love and
beneficence to his crowning act of creation, the human race.
All this beauty, that surrounds us on every hand, is an evidence
of the creator’s love for his creatures, the only ones in
the vast universe who rebelled against his government. If he clothes
this sin darkened world with such gorgeous beauty, think of the
splendor that must be heaven and the unfallen worlds that populate
the vast universe.
It is to remind us of our creator and his love and care for us
that I fill these letters with colorful scenes of nature, its
beauties testify of his personality and draw the mind to a contemplation
of his matchless charms and beauty and nobility of character.
All nature testifies to the existence of its creator, and, for
those discerning enough to read its secrets correctly, it also
testifies to his glory, which is his character of love, joy, peace,
goodness, and self-sacrifice.
My fondest moments are often spent alone with God while sitting
on a sun drenched hillside overlooking the foothills of the Appalachian
mountains, with the sun bathing my face with its warmth while
the cool breeze to refreshes my soul. I listen to the busy hum
of the bee on its errands, watch the black and yellow monarch
butterfly flitting too and fro, listen to the peaceful sounds
of the leaves swishing in the breeze, and hear the sound of a
far off dog barking its presence.
The majesty of the mountains, range upon range, marching away
toward the haze of the horizon, reminds me, albeit faintly, of
the majesty of the creator. To realize that these timeless hills
were cast up by the flood upon whose billows Noah and his family
road in safely inside the ark, protected by the mighty hand of
the Lord, fills me with awe for the creator.
Over ten years ago, Sevilla and I had the pleasure of visiting
point Ray national park on the shores of the Pacific ocean in
northern California. A peninsula of land extended into the broad
pacific for 18 miles, gradually tapering into a tall pyrometry
overlooking the deep blue of the ocean. Several hundred feet below,
the tireless breakers were crashing into the rocky face of the
pyrometry while a stiff wind blew inshore. The blue sky, the brown
of the shore many miles behind us, the vast expanse of blue on
three sides of us, the brilliant sun and cool breezes impressed
me beyond measure with the majesty of our God who could create
something so large as the ocean and yet was mindful of something
as small as myself.
Vast navies have sailed this ocean and fought terrible conflicts
upon and under its surface. Vast fleets of commercial ships ply
its waters transporting mountains of goods from country to country,
yet God looks over this expanse of water, so vast that no human
mind can comprehend it and thinks of me, whom he calls his son
and for whom he died that I might live with him in eternity.
As a young boy, I remember watching heat lightening on a dark
summer night, with a chorus of a thousand crickets serenading
their creator in the background. The flicker of lightening along
the horizon, the sound of distant and muted thunder, stirred my
heart with reverence for the creator who sends rain that all his
vast creation may drink and be refreshed.
The unfathomable rift in the vast desert, known as the Grand Canyon,
stands yarning at my feet. I look out over the undulating desert
at the North rim, almost lost in haze at this distance. The sides
of the canyon, carved out of rocks that were thrown up by the
ferocity of the flood nearly five thousand years ago, show multi-layers
of purple, red, orange, and brown, testifying to the power of
our God who could, through speaking but one word, cause all nature
to convulse with tremendous power. What power it took to create
this deep and broad canyon, I can only surmise. Hiking into its
depths, noting the layers of varied colored rocks, the dry cactus
that cover the floor of the canyon, I wonder that anything can
live here, yet this seemingly inhospitable place holds an abundance
of life, sustained by the creator as surely as he sustains me
and gives me strength to climb back up the switch back trail that
leads to the canyon rim and a hot shower and hot meal.
The plunging Nigeria is a well known sight to millions of tourists
from around the world, but it sinks into significance compared
to the Victoria falls in Africa. What joy it must have given the
creator to leave for us this record, in nature, that testifies
to the power, grandeur, glory, and might of our God.
Now I stand atop Max Patch, a part of Round Mountain in Tennessee,
along the North Carolina border. 4600 feet tall, it is hardly
the tallest peak in the Appalachian range, and is dwarfed by the
Rocky Mountains which, in turn, are dwarfed by the Himalayan Mountains
in Nepal, with their Mt. Everest, yet it is the highest mountain
in our part of the country and only 14 miles from where we live.
The sun shines in its meridian glory, the sky is filled with fluffily
clouds, a stiff wind carries a kite high over the mountain, and
the hikers, strolling its grass meadow seem subdued in the very
presence of such grandeur. Ranges of mountains march away in all
directions, one upon another, to the haze shrouded horizon and
I am awed in reverential contemplation of such a wonderful God
who gave us this faint representation of the glories of the mountain
of God in the New Earth. I stand quietly, letting my eyes feast
upon the beauty, drinking in the very presence of God, my creator
and my redeemer, the God of my childhood, the God of my youth,
and now the God of my manhood.
No sound but those made by nature mar the perfect harmony of this
afternoon far from the sounds, sights, and smells of human habitations
and big cities that are just over the horizon. For a home among
the hills, where the voice of the creator can be heard in bird
songs, the fleeting breeze, the babbling brook across from our
house, the sighing of the leaves on a warm spring afternoon, the
melody of the birds singing their joy to the Lord, the crickets
and frogs lending their voices to this impromptu choir of praise,
the bee and the butterfly, the squirrel and rabbit hopping among
the brush, the coyote that makes hits day time home among the
brush of the mountain across the creek, the friendly wag of the
dag’s tail who stands at my side patiently waiting a stroke
of his fur and a loving word from me, who could ask for anything
more satisfying, filled with contentment; joy and peace fill my
soul, I am at rest with myself and my creator.
We at Homeward-Bound Family Services have chosen to make our homes
in the country as the best place for raising our children, far
from the corruptions of the city, among the beauties of the creator,
where the voice of the holy spirit is more distinct, where one
may rest contented in the arms of the creator and feast the mind,
the imagination, and the soul on the rich repast spread out before
the eye, prepared by our God to delight the senses and the soul.
This is why we lavishly illustrate this newsletter and other publications
of the company with beautiful illustrations of nature that our
thoughts may contemplate the love of our creator and be lead to
worship him as our redeemer and friend. What a privilege it is
to be called sons and daughters of the most high.
May the Lord bless you, your brother in Christ.
Allen A. Benson