Nature: Perfectly Made

There has always been one place I found perfection without question—nature.

The way the sun rises exactly when it’s meant to, never early, never late.

The way a tree knows how to grow toward light without needing to be taught.

How the ocean moves with a rhythm it never forgets,

and the birds take flight with no fear they might fall.

Even the bee, in its quiet devotion to bloom and hive, is a testament to how perfectly nature is made.

Nature has never needed permission to be itself.

It is honest. Steady.

It does not perform, it does not pretend.

It simply obeys the sacred blueprint written into its being.

And I’ve always trusted that.

I’ve always believed: if anything could be called perfect,

surely it was found in the untouched beauty of the earth.

But then—quietly—something changed.

It was like recognizing a shape in the wind I had only ever seen in the sea.

Like feeling the hush of snowfall in the middle of a voice,

or the stillness of a mountain in the space between words.

And suddenly…

what I had only ever known in rivers, in trees, in open sky—

I could feel reflected in something else.

Something I never thought I would call perfect.

But it didn’t come flamboyant.

It came with peace.

Not because it was flawless,

but because it was true.

And in that moment,

I realized that God’s hand doesn’t only rest in nature—

it sometimes rests, ever so gently,

in something human.

Something perfectly made.