What we cannot see

During the summer months I spend a lot of time on my back deck.   I live in Colorado, land without humidity and bugs.  Yes, we have both but not as much as other places I've lived.  As I work,  I often look up to my garden; this is my view:

This week I noticed something unusual, not visible in this picture and impossible to photograph.

At a certain time in the morning, when the sun reaches one point, tiny flying creatures, more than I can count, become visible.  And this is the thing:  If I walk towards the garden and through those creatures, I feel absolutely nothing.  I don't see them as I walk and I don't feel them either.

I have always loved the story of Elisha and his attendant before a big battle recorded in 2 Kings 6: 15-17.  

Now when the attendant of the man of God had risen early and gone out, behold, an army with horses and chariots was circling the city. And his servant said to him, "Alas, my master! What shall we do?" So he answered, "Do not fear, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them." Then Elisha prayed and said, "O LORD, I pray, open his eyes that he may see." And the LORD opened the servant's eyes and he saw; and behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.… 

There are just so many hints in this world that there is more around me than I can see. I wonder what else I cannot see.  I wonder if I could mentally handle what I cannot see. Although I think how special it must have been for Elisha's attendant to suddenly see what was invisible moments before.

As someone said, "Humbled by such wonders, we can then be excited at the prospect at uncovering long-buried treasures of His creation, lying dormant for our discovery, delight, and use."

This little picture this morning, reminds me that there is more going on  in this world than meets the eye.

"Louis Aggasiz, Harvard's renowned biologist, returned one September to his classroom and announced to his students that he had spent the summer traveling, he had managed,he said, to get halfway across his backyard."  (p. 43 Eugene Peterson, Eat this Book, published in 2000).