NATURE NOTES has been out for a month now and the questions have started. How did it come about? Why did I write it? How long did it take? Some of the notes have their origins in this blog, which has been going since 2017. Over time the blog became more about my faith and interest in nature, and lockdown was the turning point: nature became more significant for many of us, and physical church meetings were not possible; the blog was then a means of connection with people who I’d normally see but couldn’t. The blog began to grow, and I realized there may be a book in it! I have had such an encouraging response to my blog: sometimes direct messages and conversations, but also evidence of people reading from closed countries where it is hard to be a Christian believer, or to find ‘uplifting’ material to read. I learn about these folk from my blog stats.

My devotional nature writing it an integral part of who I am – it comes from a very personal, private place, and yet I’ve learnt that others relate to it and want me to share it. If it helps people and enables even just a few to encounter God, then why not?

What qualifies me to write it? I am no scientist! That said, my PhD is in narrative non-fiction, and in particular, in nature writing. My Christian faith is very important to me and influences how I interpret the world. In this book I relay some of the metaphors I have found in nature and how they assure me about who God is and of his care for us; his meticulous attention to detail, his provision for even the smallest creature, the astonishing beauty that’s all around us.

Some of you will be looking at this as you’re interested in the artwork and how a cover comes about. Below is my painting that was the starting point – three snow geese in flight. The intention was for this to be a wraparound cover, so the bird on the left is on the back cover, with the blurb beneath. (Scroll down for a couple of illustrations in situ.)

The Blurb

‘Our creator God can speak profoundly without words.’

Part nature book, part devotional, Caroline Greville’s Nature Notes invites you to into the world of small wonders. Wonders we know little about, that we pass by yet do not really see.

Insects with Sat Nav ability, with inbuilt combs or unclipping wings. Birds with vertical take-off, that sing over 160 syllables in sequence or that are constantly on the wing. Small flowers that change colour once pollinated, and the minute flowers within snowflakes, each one unique.

Each reflection carries spiritual metaphors and application. If these are God’s fingerprints, what do they say about Him, the One who left them there, who created it all? What are the implications for our lives?

These pages will leave you not ‘spell-bound’ but God-bound, on a quest to encounter the One who is behind it, who longs for you to know Him more.

Reviews

“Caroline Greville’s book Nature Notes is an extremely beautiful and timely call to lift our eyes above the addictive demands of the mobile phone, the need to fill every second with frantic activity, and to stop and let God speak through one of his favourite mediums…the book of Nature. Each reading is a parable in itself, as well as containing so much insight into the natural world. It is enough to think about throughout the day, transformative in its call to not just see, but to receive and be changed by the ‘still small voice’.

Caroline’s love for God and passion for nature combine with her creative gift of teaching, to make this a pearl of a book, to delight in and reread as both a daily devotional and a tutoring in nature and the wild ways of God.” Grace Turner, author and speaker

“Caroline Greville writes with a gossamer touch as she charts her close relationship with the Creator in whom she deeply trusts. This book is not only a joy to read; t has filled me with the Holy Spirit and caused me to pause and sing God’s praises.” Bobbie Ann Cole, author and speaker

Where is the book available? It’s becoming more widely available, but here are a few outlets:

Amazon (hardback and paperback)

Hardback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Nature-Notes-Glimpses-Natural-World/dp/1739383311/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1684136410&sr=1-1

Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Nature-Notes-Glimpses-Natural-World/dp/1739383303/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1684136410&sr=1-1

Waterstones: https://www.waterstones.com/book/nature-notes/caroline-greville/9781739383305

Blackwell’s, with free postage:https://blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/product/Nature-Notes-by-Caroline-Greville/9781739383305

Hive.co.uk: https://www.hive.co.uk/Search/Keyword?keyword=caroline%20greville&productType=0

In the US, Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/nature-notes-caroline-greville/1143405032 and Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/nature-notes-glimpses-of-god-in-the-natural-world-caroline-greville/20035218

‘You haven’t had a stroke – you are having one and we don’t know when it will stop.  There is usually a window of opportunity but that passed at about twelve noon.’

It was by now late afternoon and a challenging day was reaching its crescendo. At around 6am I’d discovered half of my face immobile. I couldn’t talk and my husband Rupert rushed me to A&E.  After much testing, the doctors had now reached their decision and were calling an ambulance to get me to Canterbury, where a specialist stroke team would be waiting.

Back to the crowded waiting room and separate seats a long way apart.  I decided to update the people near me – they had some idea of what was going on already.  ‘I have a faith and I know where I’m going but I really want to be around for my family,’ I said.  Then, to my amazement, in walked Paulette, one of my oldest friends from uni days and vicar of St Alphege Church, Seasalter. It was a frightening time and I was so relieved to see her. We hugged and she prayed for me, while many around us looked visibly moved.

A few hours later I was on my way in the ambulance and already feeling encouraged.  ‘You’re lucky they’ve accepted you,’ Barnaby the paramedic told me.  ‘They don’t accept everyone. They must think there’s something they can do for you.’

The next morning I was reassured by medics that they had ways of helping me.  It was considered unusual for someone my age with low blood pressure, apparently fit and healthy with no inclination to drink, and it was concluded my migraines provide the risk factor.  Hours later and a clot was found on my brain.  I was given a clot-busting injection, followed by a few more over the next few days, courtesy of my husband, and will be on blood thinners forevermore.

All I can say is that it’s been an astonishing time.  I’ve felt so incredibly blessed that I’m regularly on the brink of tears.  I have known God alongside me, giving me the strength to cope, that ‘peace that passes all understanding’[1] as I’ve been strapped into the back of an ambulance and driven at high speed, taken into MRI tunnels and CT scanners, met with doctors on my own outside of visiting hours. I’ve known the reality of having a friend with me at all times, closer than a brother, who I can talk to when there is strange machinery all around me.  The words running through my head at the daunting moments were all about him – ‘For this I have Jesus’[2], ‘You reign above it all’[3], and ‘Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.’ (Matthew 10:29-31).

I am just so grateful to be alive, and though I am very tired, I’m feeling so very blessed. We’ve experienced such love and support, from family, friends, two amazing church congregations, all my Adult Education students, who I count as friends too – the list goes on. Everyone has rallied and I am convinced the challenging moments in hospital were so easy, especially on that second day when many people knew, because I was being carried on their prayers.  They asked and God answered.  So if you have been a part of that, thank you!  I can’t even begin to tell you of the difference you have made.  Yes, it was dismal to start with, and I barely slept on that first night, but there was definitely a shift in my spirit that wasn’t of my own making as I settled into my bed on the stroke ward.  I realized this must be what Paul is talking about when he mentions ‘the fellowship of the Holy Spirit’.[4]

This is what’s so awesome about being a Christian.  Not that he gives us a trouble-free life, but that he’s alongside us at every moment.  As we approach Christmas and think about Emmanuel, God with us, ‘fullness of God in helpless babe’, we are dwelling on a glorious truth.  It’s incredible that he saw it through to completion, sharing our humanity on every level, from infant to a fully comprehending saviour. That, after returning from the dead, he left us with his very presence, so that life – and death – are conquerable with him. 

One day he will call me home, as he will us all.  Because I love my family so and I have plenty to get on with, I hope it will be a long time from here.  But I’m not fearful.  I’ve come to appreciate something of how incredible his love is for each of us, way beyond anything we can give.  He’s not demanding or accusing, but utterly devoted to us and wanting to befriend us.  It’s the season for a bit of wonder, so let’s allow ourselves to dwell on this, and begin to talk to him, if we haven’t already.  He’s for us and on our side.  He didn’t design us to go it alone, and whatever life throws at us, he’ll gladly share it with us. 

Absolute tidings of comfort and joy!

In Christ Alone, (last stanza):

No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life’s first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand

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[1] Philippians 4:6-7

[2] Song by Graham Kendrick, 1994

[3]Song by Paul McClure, 2020

[4] 2 Corinthians 13:14 – The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you all.

Don’t you love it when nature takes you by surprise?  There I was this morning, walking a well-trodden route of ours, when a chatter of sparrows burst out from a nearby bush and into the air, disturbed no doubt by the dogs.  There, in the middle of this group, was a lunar-white sparrow, quietly glowing amongst its flock.  They landed in a huddle, giving me just long enough to take a mental snapshot, savour a brief moment, then they were off.  Of course, I stood and looked to see exactly where they had gone, but they’d dived behind a high fence and showed no signs of emerging.

     A fleeting glimpse of something special, as so many of our nature encounters are.

     I have now looked into ‘white sparrows’ and understand they are incredibly rare – from ‘one in a million’ perhaps, if it were a true albino sparrow[1] to ‘still a great find’ if leucistic. 

     The bird’s striking plumage makes it vulnerable to attack, and if it’s an albino its survival chances aren’t great; ‘Most albino birds do not live long enough to reach sexual maturity and reproduce. The majority of albino birds are thought to die soon after they fledge.’[2]  

     We’re unlikely to know which it is, and really it doesn’t matter.  I enjoyed the fact that it was at home in its knot of friends and kin, living as they do, not separated from them.  Were the others deliberately surrounding this one bird, aware of its vulnerability and attempting to shield it?  Again, I can’t be sure, though I hope to witness it again and have the chance to watch their behaviour further.  The most striking analogy that occurred to me as I wandered on down the lane was this: when Christ walked the earth he didn’t separate himself from people, live as a detached onlooker to observe our ways and say he’d witnessed our world close at hand.  His approach was much better than that; while he was unique in his purity, he chose to live as one of us, integrating fully and yet maintaining his sinless record.  Of course, his otherness made him a target too – he stood out, while not intending to, but this was inevitable, as it is with the white sparrow and his conspicuousness.  I often talk to him as I go, and right now the Ukraine situation preoccupies me.  And while I can’t wait for the suffering in Ukraine to end and pray daily that it will, I know we have a saviour who understands.  He’s fully integrated, he’s ‘mighty to save’[3], and while we wait and pray for peace I believe he’s performing countless miracles and reaching out to those in that troubled place.  I admit that I don’t have all the answers, but I believe we have one who stands out more brilliantly than a white sparrow amongst the brown, and we can take to him all our frustrations, worries and cares.  The cross and the empty grave tell me so. 

And the little white sparrow reminds me, too.

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[1] https://www.birdwatchingusa.org/albino-sparrow

[2] https://avianreport.com/how-rare-leucistic-albino-birds/

[3] Contemporary worship song by  Ben Fielding and Reuben Morgan. See Zephaniah 3:17.

The world is pressing in again, and disappointments have come along in twenty-four hours; a postponed operation for my father, who was gowned and ready for theatre – no Christmas visit now, time to isolate – and a cancelled concert for Eliott that was to incorporate his uni audition, a solo guitar piece that he’s lived and breathed for weeks.  Then news of Maddy’s friend stranded in uni accommodation as her flat-mate tests positive for Covid… no family Christmas for her.  Unwelcome changes, and not just for us, as the nation begins to panic, and Covid restrictions impinge on yet another Christmas.

     Yesterday a cold fog enveloped the village and we hunkered indoors; even the solace in roaming felt limited.  The fog is still visible in the glow from the streetlamps, but I’ve settled again in the red chair beneath the window and have spent time with the one who holds us, and whom we take all these problems to. 

     While there are stirrings upstairs I enjoy the quiet a little longer.  As I sit, a robin starts singing outside the window, as he has in recent days.  In the dark, in the stillness, I can’t see him, yet he has my full attention – this is a well-rehearsed song, and perhaps I’m the only one to hear it, as he twills into the cold, dispiriting air, just metres from my head.

     I’m reminded of Thomas Hardy’s ‘Darkling Thrush’ – a cousin of our hopeful robin.  As the poem progresses, we read:

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.

The difference, of course, between me and Hardy (putting aside his brilliance as a writer against my own efforts) is this: there is a ‘blessed Hope’ and I am not ‘unaware’. I have found God to be all-knowing and all-loving, and the robin’s song does remind me to look up and to be of good cheer. 

     Sometimes we need to take the lead, and there are enough voices of discouragement out there right now, while this lone robin’s simple song tells me to pull myself together.  At this time of year, an early bird singing outside a window is likely to be a robin, and of course we can acquaint ourselves with this particular song.  Like him, shouldn’t we be the first to proclaim our offer of hope?  To reassure others that all is not lost?  That a new day beckons, that it’s worth picking ourselves up and going on?  While he may only be singing to re-establish a bond or to proclaim his territory, he is getting on with it, and just the brilliance of his song piercing through the night air, not waiting for dawn, not put off by low light, encourages me.  I believe our creator God knew these moments would feel uplifting, and in his goodness he made us a world that we can delight in and enjoy, when personal or even national circumstances may depress us.

     I’m wondering if there is, perhaps, a beauty in the distilling of nature, in the absence of so much of what we enjoy – the flowers, the sunshine, the multitude of summer birds and their song – in having to wait, like small children caught up in the anticipation of Christmas day?  This robin’s song is all the more precious because these encounters feel rare at this point in the year.  The robin, our national bird[1] and ever hopeful songster, has become something of an emblem in December.

     I’ll leave you with a fact about him to ponder, whether you spot him today on a Christmas card or a fence post, and it’s this: every individual robin bears ‘a unique breast pattern, which means they can be identified as individuals’[2]; something like our fingerprints, I guess.  How wildly creative is our God, to lavish such attentive detail on these little birds that to us look the same, for even experts struggle to tell male and female apart.  For what purpose is the ‘bespokeness’ other than his sheer delight in creation?  Or can robins identify each other in this way? 

     The robin is not simple at all but exquisite, and ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’. 

     How much more so are we. As his people, it’s vital that we continue to offer him praise and speak out our eternal hope, as Christmas starts to look a little different to how we planned it this year.

“Let your unfailing love surround us, LORD, for our hope is in you alone.’

Psalm 33:22 NLT

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[1] The Nation’s Favourite Bird: On 7^th May 2015, the day of the general election, another vote was taking place, in which the robin received over 34% of votes.  Over 200,000 voters gave their opinions here, and I myself was one of them!  Interestingly, back on December 15^th 1960, the robin was voted for as Britain’s National Bird, too.

[2] https://www.countryfile.com/wildlife/britains-official-bird-is-announced/