The Scriptures contain a curious pattern.
Mountains sing.
Trees clap their hands.
Rivers rejoice.
The sea flees.
Again and again, creation is described as responding to God as though it recognizes Him.
At first glance, it feels poetic.
And perhaps it is.
Yet I wonder if something more is being revealed.
Why does creation appear so certain while humanity often seems unsure?
The mountains do not seem burdened by questions of worth.
The rivers do not appear conflicted about their purpose.
The trees do not strive to become something other than what they were created to be.
They simply respond.
The sea flees at His presence.
The mountains skip like rams.
The hills leap like lambs.
Creation seems to remember something.
Meanwhile, humanity—the creature fashioned in His image—often appears to have forgotten.
We question our value.
We question our belonging.
We question His goodness.
We question whether we are seen.
Whether we are known.
Whether we are loved.
And yet the Scriptures tell a different story.
We were crowned with glory and honor.
Entrusted with authority.
Fashioned in His likeness.
Given His name.
The psalmist says He crowns us with lovingkindness and tender mercies.
Isaiah says we are a royal diadem in His hand.
The language is startling.
Not merely forgiven.
Not merely tolerated.
Crowned.
Royal.
Beloved.
Perhaps this is why stories of hidden kings and forgotten heirs continue to move us.
Something within us recognizes the pattern.
We see it in fairy tales.
We see it in great stories.
An overlooked son becomes a king.
A forgotten daughter discovers her inheritance.
Ordinary children discover they are royalty.
The story resonates because it echoes something ancient.
Something true.
In Narnia, four ordinary children are clothed in royal garments and seated upon thrones.
Their authority is real, yet it is not their own.
They reign because they belong to the King.
What moves us is not the crowns.
It is the recognition.
The moment they discover who they are.
Perhaps faith is less about becoming someone else and more about remembering.
Remembering whose image you bear.
Remembering whose name you carry.
Remembering the authority that was always intended to flow from relationship rather than striving.
Isaiah paints a remarkable picture:
"You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands."
What if creation is not merely celebrating God's presence?
What if it is celebrating the restoration of His image-bearers?
What if the mountains recognize the significance of what is happening even when we do not?
A royal procession is underway.
The King is leading His people.
The sons and daughters are returning to the truth of who they are.
Perhaps this is why creation rejoices.
Not because humanity is impressive.
But because God's intention for humanity is beautiful.
The One who crowned us with glory and honor has never forgotten His design.
The One who calls us beloved has never withdrawn His affection.
The One who placed His image within us has never abandoned His purpose.
Perhaps the mountains remember this.
Perhaps the rivers do too.
Perhaps all of creation still speaks the language we were created to know.
And perhaps the journey of faith is learning to hear it again.