The morning fog clung to the surface of Lake Taneycomo like it wasn’t ready to let go.
I was alone in an old jon boat. The engine was off. The line was cast. Just silence and slow current. The water was cold, the kind that breathes against your boots when you lean over the side. Trout swam somewhere beneath, invisible but near.
Then I saw it.
A bald eagle, perched high above me on a limestone bluff, so still it might’ve been carved into the rock. For a long time it did nothing. Just watched. Then, without warning, it dropped. No wind-up, no sound—just a flash of wings, a controlled plunge, a splash—and it came up with a fish locked in its talons. It wheeled back toward the sky like nothing could stop it.
And I sat there. Rod in hand, breath caught, heart wide open.
It felt like something more than nature. Like someone was saying, Watch.
That’s when Psalm 104 came flooding back.
This Psalm Isn’t a Poem. It’s a Wake-Up Call.
“Praise the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, you are very great; you are clothed with splendor and majesty. He wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent.” (Psalm 104:1–2)
We’ve tamed the Psalms. We read them like sentiment, like soft spiritual background music. But Psalm 104 doesn’t whisper. It roars.
It’s the cry of a man who looked at the world and realized—this is not ours.
He wasn’t writing about nature. He was writing about God—seen through nature.
He’s meditating on Genesis. Day by day:
- Day One: Let there be light → He wraps himself in light as with a garment.
- Day Two: Let there be sky → He stretches out the heavens like a tent.
- Day Three: Dry land and plants → The earth drinks from springs. Grass grows. Trees shelter birds.
- Day Four: Sun and moon → The sun knows when to go down. The moon marks off seasons.
- Day Five: Sea creatures and birds → The sea teems. Leviathan frolics. Birds sing.
- Day Six: Animals and mankind → Lions seek their prey from God. Man works until evening.
And what did the psalmist do with all this?
He didn’t dissect it.
He worshiped.
Darwin on the Galápagos
In 1835, Charles Darwin stood on the rocky shores of the Galápagos Islands, watching finches flit between cactus branches. Volcanoes loomed in the distance. The Pacific crashed below the cliffs. The sky was vast and unbothered.
Darwin saw variation, adaptation, the slow churn of change. He observed with brilliance, took notes with precision. What he saw reshaped scientific thought for generations.
But what he didn’t see—or couldn’t admit—was a Creator.
He walked through one of the most awe-filled corners of creation and never once broke into worship. Never once fell to his knees in wonder. He documented the complexity of life, but he missed its Source.
It’s possible to examine the brushstrokes and never see the Artist. To hold the canvas close and forget there’s a Painter.
And that’s what Psalm 104 pushes back against. It’s a declaration: don’t just study creation—see its Maker.
The psalmist isn’t giving us data. He’s pulling back the curtain and saying, “Look! Do you see Him now?”*
Why Most People Don’t Worship
Twice, the psalmist says it:
“Praise the Lord, O my soul.” (v.1, v.35)
This is a soul issue.
You can stand on a bluff, see an eagle soar, and still say, Wow, evolution is amazing.
You can hold a newborn, hear that first cry, and say, What a miracle of biology.
You can live in a house filled with food and warmth and sleep through every blessing like it’s nothing.
Why?
Because the soul’s broken.
Because to say God made this means we owe Him something. And deep down, most people would rather believe a lie than bend a knee.
So they invent a myth. They say that nothing exploded and gave us everything. They call it science. But it’s a religion. And the god is chance.
Sir Fred Hoyle once said the odds of life forming by accident are like 10^50 blind men all solving Rubik’s Cubes at the exact same moment.
Yet that’s what people cling to.
Not because it makes sense. But because it keeps them safe from surrender.
Every Breath You’ve Ever Taken Was a Loan
Psalm 104:29–30 stings:
“When you hide your face, they are terrified; when you take away their breath, they die and return to the dust. When you send your Spirit, they are created.”
You don’t own your lungs.
You don’t control your next breath.
When God opens His hand, we eat. When He closes it, we panic.
We don’t realize how fragile we are until the air grows thin or the heart skips a beat. Then we remember: Oh, right—I’m not in charge.
The psalmist sees the vines, the grass, the bread, the oil—and he doesn’t say, Nature provides. He says, God gives.
Every meal is a miracle. Every sip of water a kindness.
Why This Psalm Should Haunt You
“But may sinners vanish from the earth and the wicked be no more.” (v.35)
That line hits hard. But it’s there for a reason.
This world was made for praise. Every stream, every lion’s roar, every stalk in the field is part of a chorus.
If you don’t want to sing, you don’t belong in the song.
God won’t let rebellion ruin His world forever. The psalmist longs for the day when nothing disrupts the harmony—when every creature knows its Maker.
And if that day scares you, it should.
Unless you know Christ.
The Eagle and the Carpenter
The same God who rides on the wind (v.3) also rode into Jerusalem on a donkey.
The same God who feeds lions (v.21) fed 5,000 on a hillside.
The same God who sends breath into lungs (v.30) gave up His own last breath on a cross.
“All things were made through Him… and without Him nothing was made that has been made.” (John 1:3)
Jesus Christ isn’t just Savior. He’s Maker.
When you say, “O Lord my God, you are very great,” you’re talking to Him.
That eagle? His design. That trout? His creation. That soul in your chest, aching for something real? His image.
What You’ll Miss If You Keep Sleeping
I’ve seen people watch bald eagles and talk louder about camera lenses than the glory of God.
I’ve watched men in suits marvel at a sunset while checking their stocks.
I’ve preached funerals for people who breathed 80 years of borrowed air and never once said, Thank You.
Don’t be one of them.
Psalm 104 isn’t a nice chapter. It’s a trumpet blast.
Wake up. See Him. Everything that moves owes its motion to Him. Everything that breathes borrows it from Him.
So look again:
- At the eagle.
- At the fog curling over Taneycomo.
- At the next breath that fills your chest.
- At the cross where the Creator died for the created.
And say it—really say it:
“Praise the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, you are very great.”
Because this time… your soul actually believes it.
Hallelujah.
Recommended Resource: If you’re studying the Psalms, you won’t want to miss my in-depth review of The Treasury of David by Charles Spurgeon. This timeless masterpiece unpacks the Psalms with rich theological insight, making it essential for devotion, sermon prep, or deep Bible study. Read the full review here.
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