They taught me multiplication as a third grader. We thought it was hard -- all those numbers. They said, "keep practicing," because someday, they promised, we'd be able to look at "9x7" and say "63" without even thinking about it.
In fourth grade, they sat me down at a computer and taught me art. Electronic flashcards. Monet, Picasso, Van Gogh. I studied them until I no longer saw the subjects, but I recognized the artists by their styles. Soft, fuzzy landscapes. Renoir.
It's no wonder the deepest part of me is moved when I witness a sunrise over the Atlantic or when, from the broken earth, flowers come up - pushing through the dirt. A tiny sparrow goes about, not worrying where he'll get his next meal. A woman is healed after 12 years of bleeding. Warm sunshine presses against my face.
All of creation cries out to its Creator. All creation declares His glory.
When I look at creation, my mind shouts, "Creator!" My God. My Father. Without even thinking about it.
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.