In a friendly but commanding tone, the leader of the park rangers told us the terms of engagement. Since they held large guns and outnumbered us 3:1, we listened carefully:

• Walk in single file

• Stand your ground - don't run - if the rhinos move toward us

• Do what we say

Moments later, we walked through a line of shrubs and found ourselves less than thirty feet from a group (or 'crash') of white rhinos. These gentle giants can weigh up to 2.5 tons, charge at 30 miles per hour, and grow horns up to four and a half feet long.

As we stood extremely still, I felt incredibly alive. My eyes widened, my heart rate shot up, and chills ran down my spine. 

In a zoo, there's always the safety of deep moats and tall fences. But here, barely a bush separated us from these massive beasts. If they wanted, they could end our lives in under two seconds. 

When the rangers gave us the signal, we returned to our 4x4, and my mind reeled. I felt torn between wanting to spend all day with these behemoths and wanting to pick up my children and sprint to the vehicle's safety. Creation's raw power and majesty had never felt so real, so immediate.

Since returning to the safety of my suburban home two weeks ago, I've spent hours reviewing the photos of this encounter. The more I ponder this photo—and remember being face to face with these giant creatures—the more it helps me contemplate the unimaginable, incomprehensible gap between the Creator of all things and our perspective as his beloved creatures. 

It's a theme throughout the Scriptures, from the opening melodies of Genesis to the soaring crescendo of the New Creation in Revelation. But the passage most on my heart is from Job 38.

By the time we've read from Job 31-37, any compassionate reader would feel Job's pain. He's catastrophically lost his wealth, health, and family. He has the most judgmental friends. Understandably, he has questions for God! 

God's response to Job's suffering is both surprising and profound. When he appears, he takes Job on a whirlwind tour of the wonders of Creation. At one point, God asks Job to consider another impressive animal, stating:

No one is ferocious enough to rouse Leviathan;

who then can stand against me?

Who confronted me, that I should repay him?

Everything under heaven belongs to me.

At times, we may think we know better than God. But when we encounter the sheer majesty of his creation — not to mention the Majesty of His Presence — we recognize an essential truth: we are but creatures, and God is our Creator. 

If a white rhino can humbly remind us of our smallness, how much more should we be in awe of the one who imagined, created, and sustained these gigantic creatures? 

I believe in honest conversations, wrestling with doubt, and sitting with uncomfortable emotions. But the fact remains: if we are going to contemplate God adequately, we first need to humbly acknowledge our place in God's Creation. Without this foundational humility, the rest of our thinking and lives will run in the wrong direction.

Let's not approach our Creator with condescension or casual familiarity but with the reverence and humility proper to His majesty—and the gratitude suitable to His love.

Just as I've sat with this memory of encountering rhinos in meditative prayer, I invite you to take some time to reflect on your heart before our loving Creator.